


took me knee-high to a man

by thewalrus_said



Series: The Chris Fic [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 2010 Winter Olympics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apologies, Aromantic Character, Baby Gay Crushes, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bondage, But It's Conquered by Skating, Canon Compliant, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Codependency, Coming Out, Don't copy to another site, First Kiss, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Homophobia, Inventing Jumps, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Making History, Making Out, Making Up, One Night Stands, Premature Ejaculation, Puberty Makeovers, Riding, Safe Sex Talks, Size Kink, Slut Shaming, Trans Character, ass eating, breaking up, public outing, summer flings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 55,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27740041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewalrus_said/pseuds/thewalrus_said
Summary: Christophe Giacometti, ages 14-22. Skating; sex; friendship; love.55k; complete. Updates Fridays and Mondays.
Relationships: Christophe Giacometti/Christophe Giacometti's Boyfriend, Christophe Giacometti/Original Male Character(s), Christophe Giacometti/Victor Nikiforov
Series: The Chris Fic [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029171
Comments: 330
Kudos: 85





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> HOO BOY.
> 
> So for those of you who know me, you know that Christophe Giacometti is my sweet Swiss son. I love him. And over the years, I've amassed all these headcanons about him and his history with skating and the Mystery Man and Viktor. I said for ages that one day I'd put them all in a fic so I could get some sleep again. This is that fic.
> 
> It's split into three parts. The first part, which I referred to in my head as "little angel skipping through the Swiss fields," goes up through chapter 5. The second part, or "The Ho-ening," is through chapter 18. And the third part, through the epilogue, is called "Post-[spoilers redacted]."
> 
> Alpha read by the inimitable [Rae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raedear) and beta read by the lovely [IA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncandescentAntelope/pseuds/IncandescentAntelope); thank you both for helping me bring this fic to reality.
> 
> If you have any questions about any of the tags, please feel free to leave a comment or hit me up on Twitter or Tumblr and I'll explain.
> 
> This fic has been a long time coming, and it's very dear to me, so I hope you like it! Enjoy!

Chris is buzzing by the time the last podium ceremony is over, talking a mile a minute and clutching his new rose in his hand like there’s a chance of it flying away. Josef smiles indulgently down at him and pats him on the shoulder and lets him chatter himself into silence until he’s sitting cross-legged on the hotel bed, throat sore and exhausted and as happy as he’s ever been in his life.

“I want to move up,” he says finally, pushing the remains of his room service dinner away and looking at Josef. He’d set the rose gently next to him on the bed while they ate, and he reaches out to stroke it again, reverent and soft. “I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” Josef asks over his steak and potatoes. “You’ll be young to be in the Seniors division, and it might be a long hard road to be competitive again. Are you sure you don’t want to stay in Juniors another year and earn some more gold medals?”

Chris shakes his head. “I want to move up,” he repeats. “I want to work with you. I know I won’t be the best right away, but I want to get started. I’m already in Seniors for the Swiss Nationals; I want to be in that division internationally too.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Josef warns. “You still have the rest of this season to finish with your current coach. I don’t want you dreaming ahead and losing the ground you have now.”

“I  _ won’t,” _ Chris says. “I’m focused, Josef, I promise.”

“Good.” Josef finishes off the last of his meal and carefully sets his silverware and plate aside. “I’ll have the contract drawn up for as soon as the season’s over. I’m excited to have you on board, Chris.”

Chris beams at him until he laughs.

He’s tearing the bathroom apart looking for something to use as a vase before bed when Josef knocks on the frame. “You can’t take it on the plane in a vase,” he says. Chris deflates, looking at the rose. “You should press it,” Josef goes on. “Did you bring a book?”

Chris has; his maths textbook. It was his one concession to the reality of schoolwork on this trip. Josef shows him how to flatten the rose without tearing any of the petals and press it carefully between two pages at the end of the book. “I’ll never know the answers on those pages,” Chris says, shutting the book.

“You’ll just have to get good enough at maths that you don’t need the answer key,” Josef says, dropping a hand onto his shoulder. “Have you done any homework at all since we got here?”

“I did plenty on the plane,” Chris says sulkily. “I don’t  _ need _ homework. I’m going to be a famous figure skater; I don’t need school.”

“You need school if you’re going to be one of mine,” Josef says firmly. “I bet Viktor Nikiforov does all  _ his _ homework. Go on, do an hour of reading before you sleep.” Chris frowns but obeys, fetching his literature reading from his backpack and settling into bed.

He can’t focus, though; his mind is still wrapped up in the skates he’s seen today, and over the past few days. Viktor’s long hair flowing behind him as he glides through his step sequences, and he has  _ quads, _ too, and Stephane Lambiel’s spins, and the way all the older skaters seemed to know each other and enjoy each other’s company. He wants to be part of it, desperately, wants to carve out his own niche and make his own mark and his own friends. He has friends in Juniors, sure, and at school, but there’s something about the camaraderie of the older skaters that calls to him. “I wish I was older,” he says out loud, giving up on his book after what he hopes has been an hour and marking his page.

“You’ll be older soon enough,” Josef says drowsily from his own bed. “Don’t wish for the inevitable. Get some sleep, lad, we’ve got a flight to catch in the morning.”

_ I’ll sleep on the plane, _ Chris thinks to himself, turning out the light and pulling the covers over himself. Tonight is for dreaming, not sleeping.


	2. one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early summer, 2006.

It’s over, Chris realizes as the cameras flash bright and he smiles to match them, holding his gold medal up to his face. His Juniors career is done, and he ended it on top. He did it.

His coach meets him at the boards, grinning as Chris skates towards him. “Well done,” he says, holding out his hand. Chris shakes it, still beaming. “I’ll be excited to see what you do under Coach Karpisek in Seniors,” the man goes on. “I expect great things from you, Chris.”

“I won’t let you down,” Chris promises. “Can I take a shower now? I put on way too much hairspray and I’m starting to get light-headed.” His coach laughs and leads him out of the rink and towards the crowd of press that stand between them and the outside.

A couple of interviews later, the two of them manage to escape the crowd and leave the building. It’s March in Canada, so the air is bitingly crisp, and Chris tilts his face into the wind. It feels like he’s skating again, the cold air of the rink rushing by him as he flies across the ice. There’s no better feeling in the world.

The hotel is a few blocks from the rink, and he and his coach walk in silence. Coach Rengel has been good for him over the past few years, drawing out his potential, but he only coaches Juniors and below. He’s the one who introduced Chris to Josef at the start of the season. “You’ll want this one,” Chris heard him murmur to the other coach, “he’s going to go far.” Chris has kept that locked in his chest ever since.

There’s a figure lurking in the shadows by the hotel door, and Chris squints at it as they approach. It steps forward into the light as they draw near, and the long mass of silver hair would have identified him even if he hadn’t called out, “Christophe Giacometti!” in that familiar voice.

“You remember me?” Chris manages, freezing in his tracks.

Viktor laughs and steps towards him. “Of course,” he says, hands shoved in his pockets. He nods to Coach Rengel and turns back to Chris. “I wanted to say congratulations on your win today,” he goes on. “Your triple Lutz is quite good.”

Chris feels himself blush to the brown roots of his hair. “Thanks,” he says. “I’ll have quads soon.”

“You’d better,” Viktor says. “I expect you to be a proper competitor when you get to Seniors. Are you moving up right away?”

Chris nods. “Starting next season I’ll be fully Seniors.”

“Good,” Viktor declares. “No point hanging around what you’ve already conquered, I always say.”

“Really?” Chris says, unable to stop himself. “You  _ always _ say that?”

Viktor barks out a surprised laugh. “Alright, you got me. But I should, it’s catchy. Well, I won’t keep you,” he says, rocking back on his heels. “Just wanted to say that congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Chris says again. “See you in Seniors.” Viktor flashes him a grin and they part ways, Chris and his coach into the hotel and Viktor away from it.

“You’ve made your first friend in your new division,” Coach Rengels remarks.

Chris shakes his head. “Viktor was just being nice.”

“‘Being nice’ is what friends  _ means, _ Chris,” his coach says teasingly. Chris just rolls his eyes and heads for the shower. His costume is starting to itch.

His parents are appropriately thrilled with his victory when he calls them afterwards, his father cheering so loud in the background that Chris knows they’ll get a complaint from their neighbors in the morning. He’s just glad he isn’t there to witness it. “Thanks,” he says when he can get a word in edgewise. “I’m really proud of myself.”

“We’re proud of you too,” his mother says. Then, of course: “Have you done your homework?”

“Mom,” he groans. “I just won the  _ World Championships, _ and you want me to write an essay?”

“Yes,” she says sternly. “If you don’t have at least an outline by the time you get home, we won’t put your medal up in your cupboard.”

That’s a lie and they both know it, but he just sighs and says, “Fine. I’ll do it on the plane, even though I  _ should _ be sleeping because I’m a  _ growing boy _ and I need all my rest, but I’ll stay awake and do my  _ essay _ instead, and never mind what it does to my growth.” She’s laughing by the time he’s done, and he grins. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, Chris,” she says.

“Love you, son!” his father hollers from the background. Chris shouts his love back and hangs up, slipping his feet into the soft slippers he packs for competitions and padding out of the room in search of a vending machine.

He manages to finish the whole outline on the flight back to Bern the next day,  _ and _ half the writing too, and his father hangs his medal up with the others with pride, taking a cloth to it until it shines.

The contract from Josef comes the next day, couriered over from the rink in a crisp white envelope. “You’re sure?” his mother asks him, pen hovering over the paper.

“I’m sure,” Chris says firmly. She signs, and then he signs, and then it’s really done. His Juniors career is over and his Seniors career is about to begin. They slip the papers back into the envelope and the courier gets back on his bike to take the signed contract back to Josef at the rink.

The rest of the school year is almost an anticlimax. His friends are all congratulatory, and Rolf in particular claps him in a hug, which makes him shiver with something unknown and thrilling, but none of his teachers seem to care. He passes his essay, which is something, and manages to scrape together good enough grades to pass the year completely.

His fellow students throw a party once the year is officially over, but for Chris, the real work is just beginning. As soon as Chris texts him that his schoolwork is over for the summer, Josef schedules a time to bring him into the rink to meet his new rinkmates and set up an off-season training schedule.

Chris spends long enough in front of his mirror that morning that his mother has to shout up the stairs that he’s about to be late. The rink is far enough away that it makes a decent workout at a run, but he’s not officially training today, so he takes his bike, locking it up at the rack outside the front door and taking a moment to shake his clothing straight again and pat down his hair.

Josef meets him just inside. “Nervous?” he asks knowingly, and laughs when Chris frowns at him. “Come on, they don’t bite,” he says, putting an arm around Chris’ shoulders and steering him toward the rink proper.

“Normally everyone has separate practice times during the summer,” Josef says, “but I schedule a group one at the start of every off-season to reevaluate training regimes and introduce new people. So most of them you won’t see very often.” Chris nods, jamming his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting, and they go through the doors, the bite of the cold air instantly calming him.

Josef calls over the pairs set first—he introduces them as Franz and Mia, a sibling pair in their early twenties, and they wave at him from the boards. “Great job at Worlds!” Franz calls. “Killer step sequence.”

“Thanks,” Chris says, and they zoom off back to the far side of the rink.

Josef also has two ladies singles skaters under his tutelage, Lea and Elena. Elena is about Franz and Mia’s age, but Lea is closer to Chris’; he remembers her senior debut two years ago and is able to compliment her on a Grand Prix bronze from last season, which makes her beam at him. She’s a bright one, shiny blond hair almost the same shade as Chris’ and sparkling white teeth when she smiles. Taken all together, she makes Chris’ eyes ache like looking at the sun, but she’s nice enough when she welcomes him to the rink. “She has that effect on everyone,” Josef murmurs to him when the girls skate away. Chris laughs.

“And now, my ice dancers,” Josef says, signalling to the last pair on the ice. “I admit I don’t usually take ice dancers, but I’ve made an exception for these two.” The pair make their way over to where Josef and Chris are standing, and Chris feels his heart stutter in his chest.

The girl is pretty, dark skin and darker hair slicked back from her face in a tight ponytail. She grins and waves at him, sliding into the boards with a practiced glide that Chris takes a moment to distantly envy. But it’s the boy that catches Chris’ eye, tall and broad-shouldered, maybe two years older than Chris, with wavy brown hair cascading down from his head and a crooked smile. “Mat and Nadja,” Josef introduces them. “This is Chris Giacometti, our newest member.”

“Welcome,” Nadja says brightly. “I saw your free program at World Juniors, it was really amazing.”

“Thanks,” Chris manages, tearing his eyes away from Mat. “I hope I’m good enough for Seniors.”

“Josef’ll whip you into shape,” Mat says. “He’s a good coach.”

“Damning me with faint praise, I see,” Josef says drily, and Mat laughs. Chris’ heart stutters again.

“Welcome to the rink,” Mat says, turning back to Chris. “If you have any questions about anything, just find me or Nadja and we’ll help you.”

“Do you have a cell phone?” Nadja asks. Chris nods, patting his pocket where the flip phone is sitting safely. “Give him our numbers, Josef,” she says to their coach, who nods. “Call or text us anytime,” she says. “I’m glued to my phone. When I’m not practicing,” she says quickly, looking at Josef.

“Nice save,” the coach says. “Alright, back to it, you two.” They wave again and skate back to their spot on the ice. “That’s everyone,” Josef says. “You’ll fit in nicely.”

“I hope so,” Chris says. “Everyone seems nice.”

“For the most part they are,” Josef replies. “And like I said, you probably won’t see much of them until the season starts and you get more ice time. But for now, we have some paperwork to go over.”

Chris follows him to his little office off the rink and fills out form after form. “We’ll make you an appointment with our nutritionist,” Josef says, “but I wouldn’t worry too much about that. I talked with your last coach and the regime you were on should be fine to continue.”

“Okay,” Chris says, signing his name on the last form.

“Last thing.” Josef scribbles on a sticky note and passes it across the desk to Chris. “Mat and Nadja’s cell numbers and emails,” he says as Chris takes it. “I hope you take them up on their offer; they’ve been with me for several years and know the ropes well by now.”

“I will,” Chris promises, folding the note and slipping it into his pocket alongside his phone.

“Good.” Josef puts his hands flat on the desk and stands up. “That’s all for today, I think. I’ll see you back here next Tuesday for some solo ice time. Keep up with your workouts and your diet until then. I’ll know if you slack off.”

“Yes sir,” Chris says, standing.

“And no  _ sir,” _ Josef adds, smiling to take the sting out. “I’m Josef, or Coach if you have to be formal.” Chris nods. “I’ll walk you out,” Josef says, and does, lingering by the door until Chris unlocks his bike and straddles it. “Enjoy your break from school,” Josef calls. Chris waves and sets off for home again.

“How was it?” his father asks when Chris gets home.

“Fine,” Chris says, flopping down onto the couch next to him. “Everyone seems nice.”

“Good,” his father booms. “I’d hate to have to go down there and start cracking heads when we’ve only just signed the paperwork.” Chris laughs and steals the remote from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you that haven't read my other fics The Wager and guest appearance, Mat = the Mystery Man, whom I've named Mathieu Bieri for all my fic purposes. So that's who you met this chapter!


	3. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer passes quickly. Josef has high expectations for all his skaters, and Chris has a long way to go from Juniors-ready to Seniors-ready, so he spends most of it training, alternating between the gym and the rink. Josef puts him in touch with a trainer, who helps him come up with a regime that will get him in shape without overtaxing his still-growing muscles.
> 
> At the rink, he and Josef spend their time refining his elements. Under Josef’s careful eye, Chris also starts training the quad toe loop, which he’s wanted for ages but his Juniors coach wouldn’t let him try. He’s landed it a handful of times by the time August rolls around and Josef drops the c-word.

Summer passes quickly. Josef has high expectations for all his skaters, and Chris has a long way to go from Juniors-ready to Seniors-ready, so he spends most of it training, alternating between the gym and the rink. Josef puts him in touch with a trainer, who helps him come up with a regime that will get him in shape without overtaxing his still-growing muscles.

At the rink, he and Josef spend their time refining his elements. Under Josef’s careful eye, Chris also starts training the quad toe loop, which he’s wanted for  _ ages _ but his Juniors coach wouldn’t let him try. He’s landed it a handful of times by the time August rolls around and Josef drops the c-word.

“I generally let my older and more experienced skaters have a sizable say in their choreographies,” he says, arms folded as Chris unlaces his boots after practice one day. “For skaters as young as you, though, I usually choreograph them myself. How does that sound?”

“Fine,” Chris says, stowing his skates in his bag and tugging on his sneakers. “I trust you.”

“Good. I have some ideas for your programs for this season. No quad toe loop,” he adds, and Chris frowns. “You’re not landing it consistently enough. We’ll keep drilling it, though, and hopefully by this time next year we can add it to your repertoire.”

It’s fair, although Chris doesn’t like it. “Alright.” He stands, swinging his backpack on. “School’s starting next week,” he reminds Josef.

“I know,” Josef says mildly. “I expect you to keep up with your training  _ and _ your schoolwork. If you start to fall behind in either, come to me and I’ll help you. Alright?” Chris nods. “Off with you. I’ll have the bare bones of some programs for you next time.”

“Thanks, Josef,” Chris says, and makes his way out to his bike.

There’s a pre-school year party the next night. Chris takes a little rum in his Coke and dances like a mad thing, wrapped around his friends and singing along to the music. It’s their last big blow-out before putting their noses to the grindstone, and he makes the most of it. Maria is always handsy when she dances, but Rolf too presses close to Chris on the dance floor, and the secret little thrill that gives him turns his head almost more than the alcohol does.

To his profound relief, it’s his mother who waited up for him when he gets home. His father would have been angry, but his mother just gives him a knowing smile and sends him off to bed with a glass of water and an aspirin.

School starts up again with a bang, drowning Chris in essays and maths problem sets and science methodologies. His escape is the rink, where Josef’s choreography keeps him too busy to think.

“I feel like we never see you anymore,” Rolf complains at lunch one day, throwing a tater tot at Chris where he’s bent over their literature reading. “You’re always busy skating.”

Chris marks his page in the book and pops the tater tot in his mouth. “It’s my career,” he says with his mouth full, making Maria roll her eyes and gag. He grins at her before turning back to Rolf. “But I’m sorry. I’ll try to make more time for you guys.”

“You can start by coming over and helping me with this Biology lab,” Rolf says, going back to his grilled cheese. “I don’t understand it at all.”

“What makes you think I do?” Chris points out. Rolf just turns those dark eyes on him, a slight pout to his lips, and Chris sighs. “Fine, I’ll come over after school tomorrow.”

“Can I come too?” Maria wheedles. “I’m going to fail that class, I can already tell.”

“You’ve never failed a class in your life,” Rolf says. “But fine, come over too. We’ll have a study group.” He catches Chris’ eye, a conspiratorial  _ oh well _ tilt to his mouth that makes Chris’ stomach squirm.

Study groups with Chris’ friends are always a riot but rarely end with actual homework getting done, so he goes home the next day with just as much Biology work to do as he had at the start of the day. Pulling out his cell phone, he sends a message to Nadja for help.

_ Nadja _

_ Are you any good at biology? << _

_ >> Ha! No _

_ >> Mat is, though _

_ >> Ask him _

_ Okay, thanks << _

_ Mat _

_ I need help << _

_ >> With what? _

_ The Krebs cycle << _

_ Nadja says you’re good at biology << _

_ >> I’m decent _

_ >> Can I call you? Too long an explanation for text _

_ Sure << _

Chris somehow manages to focus enough on the lesson despite getting a little lost in Mat’s voice that he actually understands it. “Thank you,” he says fervently, scribbling the last answer onto his paper. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Mat laughs. “Anytime, Chris.”

“I have to go call all my friends and explain it to them now that I understand it. Thank you,” Chris repeats. “I’ll give you all the credit.”

“Don’t bother,” Mat says. “Make yourself look good, I don’t mind.”

“You’re the best,” Chris declares, and they say goodbye and hang up. Chris dials Rolf. “I understand it,” he says as soon as the other boy picks up, and launches into an explanation.

“Shit, shit, slow down, let me get my sheet,” Rolf cuts over him. Chris can hear the rustling of his backpack as he rips it open. “How’d you figure it out?”

“I’m a genius.”

“Obviously,” Rolf drawls. “But seriously, you were just as confused as me and Maria two hours ago.”

Chris fiddles with a loose thread on his bedspread. “I had a friend explain it to me.” He hopes it’s not too presumptuous to call Mat a friend at this point, but somehow he doesn’t think Mat would mind.

“Another friend, huh?” Rolf asks. “Are you cheating on us? Should I be jealous?”

“Absolutely be jealous,” Chris says, grinning to himself. “Are you ready yet?”

“Yes, yes, go ahead.”

Chris winds up calling on Mat’s help a handful more times throughout the semester. He tries his best to time it when he knows Mat will be at practice so he can just leave a message and Mat can call him back when he’s ready, but somehow Mat always picks up anyway.

He drags Rolf and Maria through Biology as well, despite their ever-more-vocal curiosity about his mysterious tutor friend. “Are they prettier than me?” Maria asks after one study group, nervously patting her hair.

“Are they prettier than  _ me?” _ Rolf demands, mirroring her movements. Chris just laughs at them and turns back to his textbook. He’s not sure why, but something in him makes him want to keep Mat private from his school friends. Particularly, private from Rolf. The way his friend is starting to look at him makes him feel the same way looking at Mat does. It’s probably best to keep those two streams from crossing.

The Grand Prix series starts up in October. Chris isn’t in any events, of course, but some of his rinkmates are, so he commandeers the television or family computer for each event, depending on where the best place to watch each event is. Franz and Mia are in two events, coming fourth and third respectively. He has their numbers too by then, and shoots off congratulatory texts. Lea is in the same boat he is, too unestablished in Seniors to be assigned to the series, but Elena’s in the Cup of China and pulls a bronze medal too. Mat and Nadja are in the French event, pulling a respectable sixth.

_ Mat _

_ Congratulations! << _

_ >> Thanks _

_ >> Hard to be excited when I see how far we still have to go _

_ At least you got to compete << _

_ >> True. Sorry. You’ll get there. _

_ And you’ll get higher in the rankings soon << _

As the season goes on and Nationals gets closer, everyone’s training schedules pick up, which means Chris is now often sharing rink time with the others. For the most part, Josef keeps them on opposite sides of the rink, but every now and then Chris gets lucky and Josef will assign someone to mentor him in some skill or other.

Under Elena’s tutelage, his spins get better than they’ve ever been. Josef is always free with his smiles and praise, but Chris can always tell when he’s really impressed the man, and the camel spin in his free program halfway through November is one of those times.

His favorite times, though, are when he gets to work with Nadja on his extensions. Chris has a bad habit of marking his movements instead of fully extending them, and apparently Nadja is the best in the rink at countering that. Josef actually pulls her in alone for one of Chris’ solo sessions to work on it.

“So, you and Mat,” Chris says during their water break, leaning back against the boards and catching his breath. “How did you two meet?”

“Oh, Josef introduced us,” she says, wiping her brow on her sweatband. “He’s had Mat since Novices, and he knows my ballet teacher and pulled me from her class when I was twelve. I think he was disappointed when we decided on dance together; he wanted us for pairs.”

“Why did you pick it?” Chris asks.

She shrugs. “It just suited our styles better. Besides, I’m not one for jumps, and neither is Mat.”

“Makes sense,” Chris says, rubbing his knee where it aches from the morning’s quad toe loop drills. “Are you two...”

Nadja cackles. “Oh  _ God _ no,” she says, and pats his shoulder. “We play it up for the programs, but no, nothing like that.”

Chris nods, trying not to let his relief show on his face. He doesn’t even know why he’s relieved, really; there’s no indication Mat would be interested in  _ him _ even if he isn’t dating Nadja.

He must not do a very good job, though, because Nadja slings an arm around his shoulders. “It’s the hair, isn’t it?” she whispers to him. “It’s magical.”

Chris shakes himself. “It’s fine,” he says. “Shall we get back into it?”

“Sure thing,” she says. He sets his water bottle on the boards and skates back out to their spot on the ice. She runs him through his step sequences a few more times before declaring to Josef that he’s doing much better. “All credit to me, of course.”

“Of course,” Josef says with an indulgent smile. “Alright, Chris, run through your full short for me.” Chris does, downgrading his jumps due to how tired he is but putting his all into the extensions and steps. “Good,” Josef says when he’s finished, doubled over on his knees and panting. “I’m satisfied with where you are. Starting next week we’ll build some contingencies for missed jumps. You need to have backup plans already as muscle memory when you compete.”

“Yes, Josef,” Chris says. “Can I go stretch now?”

“Off with you.”

Instead of going off to stretch right away, though, he pulls Nadja aside, taking her by the elbow and tugging them both behind the bleachers. She comes willingly, although when he turns to face her she’s clearly confused. “What’s up?” she asks, crossing her arms.

Chris opens his mouth and shuts it again, a little at a loss. “How...” he starts, having to pause to swallow. “How did you know?” he asks, his voice very quiet.

Her face goes a little soft and knowing. “Oh, Chris,” she says, putting a hand on his arm. “Let’s just say you’re not my only gay friend.”

“Don’t tell Mat,” he begs. “I don’t want him to know.”

“Okay, okay,” she says, reaching up to squeeze his shoulder. “Calm down, I won’t tell him. Although I guarantee you, one hundred percent, he will be fine with it.”

“Really?” She nods. “Still,” Chris says. “I’m not ready yet.”

“That’s fine,” she says with another squeeze. “I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that. I didn’t realize, but I should have thought first.”

“It’s okay.” Chris manages a smile. “I’m glad you’re okay with it.”

“Totally fine,” she assures him. “And my lips are sealed.”

“Can I hug you?” She laughs and folds him in a warm embrace, ruffling his hair. “Thanks,” he says when she releases him. “Let’s go stretch now.”

“You got it, champ.”


	4. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of a sudden, it’s late November and Nationals are just around the corner. The timing is such that if he does a lot of studying on the train, he should be able to take his finals on schedule. Josef handles booking the tickets and the hotel rooms for his skaters, all of whom will be competing. “You have to grill me on Biology,” Chris begs Mat at the end of their last shared training before the competition.
> 
> “I will,” Mat promises.
> 
> Neither of his parents can get the time off work to come see him compete in person, so they see him off at the train station, passing him into Josef’s care with a hug each and a kiss on the forehead from his father. “Be magnificent,” the man says, ruffling Chris’ hair.
> 
> “Aren’t I always?” Chris flashes him a cheeky grin. “See you in a few days.”

All of a sudden, it’s late November and Nationals are just around the corner. The timing is such that if he does a  _ lot _ of studying on the train, he should be able to take his finals on schedule. Josef handles booking the tickets and the hotel rooms for his skaters, all of whom will be competing. “You have to grill me on Biology,” Chris begs Mat at the end of their last shared training before the competition.

“I will,” Mat promises.

Neither of his parents can get the time off work to come see him compete in person, so they see him off at the train station, passing him into Josef’s care with a hug each and a kiss on the forehead from his father. “Be magnificent,” the man says, ruffling Chris’ hair.

“Aren’t I always?” Chris flashes him a cheeky grin. “See you in a few days.”

They get a carriage to themselves on the train, all eight of them crammed in alongside each other, and the compartment is quickly full of the smell of various healthy breakfasts and smoothies. Chris jams his earbuds in and spends the first hour catching up on his literature reading, until Nadja pulls the book out of his hands. “You’re making me carsick just watching you,” she says, marking his page and tucking the book into her own bag. “Talk to us.”

“I’m too nervous to talk,” Chris says honestly.

“You did Seniors for Nationals last year, right?” Nadja asks, leaning back in her seat. “Were you nervous then?”

“Not as much,” Chris admits. “It wasn’t the only competition in my season last year. There’s a lot more riding on it now.”

“You’ll be fine,” Mat says, a confidence in his voice that Chris does not share. “Your programs are solid, and Josef’s been working you hard. Top six for sure.”

“You think?” Chris chews on his lower lip. Top six is really the best he can hope for, relative newcomer that he is. “It’d be better if I had a quad.”

Josef leans over at that. “You only really need quads for international competitions,” he says. “We’ve talked about this, Chris. Next year. You have plenty of time to learn all the quads your heart desires.”

“I know.” Viktor Nikiforov already has  _ two _ quads, the toe loop  _ and _ the Salchow. Chris tries not to dwell on it.

The hotel is far enough from the train station in Geneva that they require transportation. Josef packs the pairs and dancers into one cab, pre-paying the fare, and takes his singles skaters in another with him. They meet up in the hotel lobby and check in. Franz and Mat are sharing a room, as are Mia and Elena and Nadja and Lea. Chris is bunking in with Josef again.

“I’m not going to be able to watch the Juniors compete, am I?” Chris realizes, looking over the packed schedule for the next two days. “I’ll be too busy warming up.”

“You’ll see them at the banquet,” Josef says, patting his shoulder. “And besides, this time you get to watch Stephane skate in person.” Chris visibly brightens at that and Josef laughs.

He catches glimpses of Stephane at the public practice the next day. Josef keeps him focused on his own skates, but he sees enough to make him swoon a little and then put his head down and work even harder. He’s  _ not _ going to embarrass himself.

Chris crams studying into the spare moments when he’s not running or fretting himself sick, and before he knows it, it’s the morning of the first day of the proper competition. He’s in the middle of the list and, as he’s the only men’s singles skater Josef has, he has the benefit of his coach’s undivided attention all morning. By the time it’s his turn to step onto the ice, he’s remarkably calm. Josef hugs him over the board and pats his shoulder in lieu of ruffling his hair. “Do your best,” he says with a smile, and then there’s nothing left but to swallow a last drink of water and head out to center ice.

_ Focus, _ he tells himself, settling into his starting pose.  _ Stephane’s watching. _ Stephane is likely  _ not _ watching, instead preparing himself for his own skate later that day. But the thought that he  _ might _ be watching, that he might, one day, see this skate stiffens Chris’ spine and his resolve. The music starts, and he’s off.

Mat  _ does _ ruffle his hair that night, followed by Nadja, both of them alight with their own successful compulsory dance. They have two more skates to do before the competition’s over, but they’re in a solid place, and so is Chris. “What did I tell you?” Mat says, beaming. “Top six, for sure.”

Chris grins helplessly at him. “It did go well, didn’t it?”

“It went  _ great,” _ Nadja says. “Did you watch Stephane’s?”

Chris nods. He still can’t quite form sentences about it, but he tries, and manages to eke out, “His  _ spins...” _ Nadja and Mat just nod knowingly.

Josef lets him watch Mat and Nadja’s original and free dances, but every other moment is spent practicing his footwork in the hallway outside his hotel room as he runs through mathematical formulae in his head.

Finally, the men's singles free skate rolls around. Josef keeps him busy again, warm-up after warm-up after warm-up, until his muscles are as loose as possible with the amount of anxiety he’s feeling. “You’re fifteen,” Josef says as Chris takes the ice. “This is your first proper Nationals. Even if you flop, you’ll have plenty more.”

“I won’t flop,” Chris says, aiming for confidence. “I’ll make you proud, Josef.”

Josef grabs him by the chin and looks him square in the eye. “Christophe,” he says solemnly. “You’ll never make me anything other than intensely proud of you.” Stunned, Chris hugs him and skates out to center ice.

It goes well.  _ Really _ well. He misses the podium by six points, closer than he’d ever dared to dream. Josef hauls him into a huge hug, lifting him off the floor, and his rinkmates pile onto them as well.

It’s enough of an upset that he misses the podium ceremony to do interviews, so it’s a massive shock when he turns from one camera to see Stephane,  _ the _ Stephane, standing patiently behind him, his coach a few steps back. “I wanted to say congratulations,” he says, a genuine-looking smile on his face. “And that I expect you on the podium next year.”

“Really?” Chris manages to squeak out.

Stephane grins and taps his nose. “I have a nose for these things.”

Chris knots his hands together behind his back. “I’ll do my best, then!”

“Stephane,” his coach says warningly.

Stephane grimaces. “I have to go,” he says, starting to turn away. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you!” is his last parting shot over his shoulder, and then he’s gone, leaving Chris to stand and shake until Josef comes to fetch him.

Neither Rolf nor Maria really  _ appreciate _ what it means that  _ Stephane Lambiel _ told him to make the podium next year. “You don’t understand,” Chris says again over his notebook. “He’s a  _ god.” _

“Sure,” Maria says. “And he’s  _ dreamy. _ Why didn’t you take a photo with him?”

“He spoke to me!” Chris cries. “I was too starstruck!”

Rolf adjusts his literature textbook across his lap. “If you ask me,  _ he _ should have been starstruck to talk to  _ you,” _ he says, nudging Chris with his foot where he’s spread out across the bed below him.

_ “You _ should be too starstruck to talk to me,” Chris retorts, tickling his foot. “You should swoon at the sight of me.”

“Oh, I do,” Rolf says. Maria cackles from her spot on the floor. “One look at you and my heart starts  _ racing, _ Christophe Giacometti.”

His tone is joking, but his eyes are bright when Chris catches them, and he drops Chris a wink. Fumbling for words, Chris just manages, “Well. Good.”

“Will you remember us when you’re famous?” Maria asks.

“Of course,” Chris proclaims. “I’ll never forget my starter set of friends.”

Maria throws a pencil at him and Rolf pushes him harder with his foot, but they’re both laughing.

Somehow, Chris passes all his finals, even Biology, leaving him free to watch the Grand Prix Final on television. Mat and Nadja are there, as is Viktor, beaming all over his elfin face next to his grump of a coach.

He texts with Mat and Nadja between events, drinking in their stories vicariously. They earn a respectable fourth, by a closer margin than Chris had managed at Nationals.

_ Mat, Nadja _

_ Are you disappointed? << _

_ >> M: No _

_ >> M: We’ll do better next year, but this is good for now _

_ >> N: I got to touch Tessa’s skate bag _

_ >> N: I’m walking ON AIR rn _

_ Omg << _

_ Did I tell you Stephane Lambiel told me I had to make the podium next year? << _

_ >> M: Only a thousand times _

_ >> N: Did he smell good? I bet he smelled good _

_ >> M: I bet he smelled like hairspray and sweat, like every other skater in the world _

_ Who pissed in your Cheerios? << _

_ >> M: Don’t be foul, Christophe _

_ >> N: Don’t worry, I just smacked him in the head for you _

_ Thank you, Nadja, my only real friend here << _

_ >> M: This after I carried you through Biology _

_ >> M: And was planning to continue to do so through the second semester _

_ I’m sorry Mat, you’re beautiful and you smell like roses and fresh cut grass << _

Viktor scrapes his way into second place in men’s singles by the skin of his teeth, inching his way over the bronze finisher on the strength of a surprise quad Salchow in the second half of his free program. Chris tags him in a congratulatory post on Facebook, not expecting him to see it, but he likes the status a few hours later. Feeling bold, Chris sends a friend request, which is immediately accepted. He goes to sleep that night grinning as though  _ he’d  _ won a silver medal.

Viktor repeats the jump composition at Euros, pulling a second silver medal. Chris isn’t there, but some of his older rinkmates are, and Chris watches it all, staying up late to catch the coverage on television and texting Josef to smile whenever his coach looks too stressed on the screen. Viktor misses the podium by a hair at Worlds, but Mat and Nadja pull their way onto the bronze-level podium, and Chris’ rink ends the season with a celebration.

Nadja nudges Mat laughingly, half a flute of champagne in. Chris sips at the glass of wine Josef has reluctantly allowed him. “This’ll be Mat’s last party for a while, banquets excepted,” she says. “Pity him, for now begins The Time Of Studying.”

“Are you doing your maturité next year?” Chris asks.

Mat nods. “It’s not as dire as Nadja predicts,” he says, rolling his eyes. She shoves him again. “I’m a good student. But it  _ is _ going to be a lot of work.”

“I’ll be the one grilling  _ you _ this time at Nationals,” Chris says.

Mat grins. “Don’t volunteer unless you mean it,” he warns. “I  _ will _ take you up on it.”

“Of course I mean it,” Chris says, a little more earnestly than he means to. Nadja leans back a little, out of Mat’s view, and winks at him, making him blush a little. Mat, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice.

Josef calls them all to attention a few minutes later, tapping a spoon against his champagne. “You’ve all done very well this year,” he says, looking with pride over them all. “I’m very, very proud of all of you. But with exceptional performances comes raised expectations. Take the next few weeks to rest and relax, but expect to  _ work _ this summer. I’m going to whip you all into shape for the next level, whatever that level may be.” He lifts his glass a little. “To Team Karpisek, the best skaters Switzerland has ever seen.”

“To us!” Nadja shouts, matching his toast. The rest of them cheer and raise their glasses and drink. Everyone’s a little flushed with alcohol and success, even Mat, normally so stoic. Chris grins into his wine and thinks,  _ I could do this for the rest of my life. _


	5. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So,” Chris says, their knees pressing together and Rolf’s breath on his cheek, their faces are so close. “What did you want to tell me?”
> 
> Rolf sighs. “We’re moving away,” he says all in a rush. “My family. My parents got new jobs and we’re moving away in December.”
> 
> Chris’ stomach drops to about his knees and he nods. “I see. We’ll miss you, me and Maria. The lunch table won’t be the same without you.”
> 
> “It’s not Maria I want to miss me,” Rolf murmurs. Chris leans back and looks at him. “I didn’t just drag you in here to tell you that,” he says. His eyes are wide and he’s sweating a little. Chris raises an eyebrow. “Don’t kill me if I’ve got this wrong,” Rolf says, and he lifts his hands and puts them on either side of Chris’ face. “I’m moving away in four months, so this is my last chance to do this,” and he pulls Chris’ face forward and presses their mouths together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to earn that rating!

_ Mat, Nadja _

_ >> N: Hey _

_ >> N: We wanted you to hear this from us first _

_ >> N: We would have told you at our last practice, but there wasn’t a chance _

_ I’m nervous << _

_ Spit it out << _

_ >> M: We’re switching coaches _

_ >> M: To Coach Accola _

_ >> M: He’s more experienced with ice dance teams than Josef is _

_ Does Josef know? << _

_ >> M: Of course _

_ >> M: He understands _

_ >> M: The press release goes out tomorrow so we wanted to tell you tonight _

_ :’’’’’’’’( << _

_ I’ll miss you guys << _

_ The rink won’t be the same without you << _

_ >> N: We’ll still see each other all the time!!!!!! _

_ >> N: At competitions and stuff _

_ >> N: Plus we’ll just like hang out _

_ >> N: I’ll make Mat come _

_ >> M: You won’t have to make me, Nadja _

_ *blush* << _

_ Devastated for me, but happy for you guys << _

_ You’re gonna crush it whoever your coach is << _

_ >> M: We knew you’d understand _

Chris had placed high enough at Nationals that Josef seems to think there’s a good chance he’ll get a Grand Prix assignment this year, so his summer is spent in a haze of nerves and conditioning. They get his choreography done early, in July, to give him as much time as possible to practice, and the nutritionist switches things up on him, demanding more protein. “You’re starting a growth spurt,” the man says. “You’re about to bulk out, and we need to make sure that’s pure muscle. I’ll talk to the trainer and get you a new workout regimen too.” Chris groans, but puts protein powder on his family’s grocery list.

July and August slip away; before he knows it, the school year is only a week away. There’s a party, of course; there’s always a party before school starts. Chris uses his widening shoulders to justify a shopping spree and turns up in new clothes that fit him like a dream, even if it is just for the moment. Maria teases him for twenty minutes before someone breaks out the alcohol, but Rolf just gives him an appreciative smile and a slug on the bicep.

The alcohol at these parties is always  _ terrible, _ but Chris gamely downs two cups in pursuit of dancing. He loses Maria at some point, but there are plenty of other people on the floor, and he drifts for a long stretch of time to the throbbing beat and the heat of other people, until a hand closes around his wrist.

It’s Rolf, pulling him off the dance floor and into a quiet corner. “I’ve got to tell you something,” he shouts in Chris’ ear. “Can we talk?”

“Sure!” Chris shouts back, and follows when Rolf leads him out of the living room of the party’s host and down a hallway.

He’s a little surprised when Rolf leads him to a closet, but hey, he’s a little drunk and it’s not like he’s not already in one  _ metaphorically, _ so he just goes in and shifts aside a little to make room for Rolf to close the door.

“So,” Chris says, their knees pressing together and Rolf’s breath on his cheek, their faces are so close. “What did you want to tell me?”

Rolf sighs. “We’re moving away,” he says all in a rush. “My family. My parents got new jobs and we’re moving away in December.”

Chris’ stomach drops to about his knees and he nods. “I see. We’ll miss you, me and Maria. The lunch table won’t be the same without you.”

“It’s not  _ Maria _ I want to miss me,” Rolf murmurs. Chris leans back and looks at him. “I didn’t just drag you in here to tell you that,” he says. His eyes are wide and he’s sweating a little. Chris raises an eyebrow. “Don’t kill me if I’ve got this wrong,” Rolf says, and he lifts his hands and puts them on either side of Chris’ face. “I’m moving away in four months, so this is my last chance to do this,” and he pulls Chris’ face forward and presses their mouths together.

It’s Chris’ first kiss, and it confirms a number of things Chris has always known about himself but never  _ known, _ not practically. Rolf tastes like the party’s terrible alcohol and also kind of like pot, and Chris licks it off his lips when his friend pulls back. “Did I get it wrong?” Rolf whispers.

Eyes still shut, Chris shakes his head. “Nope, not wrong, not wrong at all.”

“Oh thank Christ.” They’re kissing again, and Chris gets the rest of his body involved, his knees pressing a little farther between Rolf’s and his hands going to Rolf’s waist. Rolf works his mouth open, and he must have done this before, or read some  _ very explicit _ books, and Chris will winkle the stories out of him later but for now he takes Rolf’s nervous tongue into his mouth and lets out a sound he didn’t know he was capable of.

He finds himself hard faster than he’s ever gotten hard in his life, and he’s sixteen years old, so that’s saying something. “Do you wanna,” he whispers, biting Rolf’s lip and letting one hand slip around to rest on his lower back.

_ “Christ, _ yeah,” Rolf swears again. They fumble blindly at each other’s trousers, still kissing, and Chris lets out a hiss as Rolf yanks his fly down and his fingers graze Chris’ cock. Rolf whimpers, and Chris tears his mouth away to focus his eyes on what his fingers are doing and finally get his friend’s zipper down, then push his trousers and boxers to mid-thigh.

Rolf whines as Chris touches him, high-pitched drones that go straight to Chris’ balls, almost more than Rolf’s reciprocating fingers do. Rolf’s free hand tangles in his hair, fingers catching on a snarl and tugging, and the sharp burst of almost-pain sends Chris over the edge, spilling onto Rolf’s wrist and the fabric of his own briefs with a bitten-off cry.

He somehow manages to keep working Rolf through it, and Rolf finishes before he’s fully come back to himself. They pant against each other for a few minutes, until Rolf reaches to a shelf above Chris’ head and comes back with a washcloth to clean their hands.

“Is this how you expected this conversation to go?” Chris asks with a grin, working his trousers back up over his hips.

Rolf grins back. “It was the best-case scenario.”

Chris laughs and throws his arms around Rolf’s shoulders, pulling him in for another kiss. “We’ll do this again?” he murmurs.

Rolf nods, rubbing his nose against Chris’. “It’s only four months, but I bet we can have some fun before I have to leave.”

Chris feels himself grin, sharp as a blade. “No doubt.”

Rolf leaves first, promising to knock on the door when five minutes have passed and it’s safe for Chris to come out. He spends the time with his eyes closed, thinking hard.

His parents have always taught him that sex doesn’t change a person, that virginity is a social construct, but he does feel...  _ different, _ somehow. More settled into his skin, more present in his body. He can feel long-held muscle tension loosening, as though his orgasm had wrung his whole body out and left him limp and loose. He likes it.

Maria shouts at them for running off when they make it back to the living room. “I had no one to dance with!” she scolds, one hand around both their wrists to tow them after her. “It was  _ horrible.” _

Chris shares a laughing glance with Rolf, then sweeps Maria back onto the dance floor.

Rolf tells Maria about his upcoming move the next day over brunch, and Chris starts his school year in a potent mixture of her sadness, his sadness, and his raging hormones. It’s all he can do not to drag Rolf into the bathroom at every class change, but they only have to try it once to decide it’s a bad idea. Too risky. Best to keep their illicit gay sex to one bedroom or another.

On the ice, he’s landing the quad toe loop consistently now, and the Salchow nearly three-quarters of the time. Josef reworks his programs to include them on a hunch, and he’s proven right almost before the ink is dry; the Grand Prix assignments come out, and Chris is going to Paris.

His parents cheer for him and make nothing but French cuisine for a solid week. Mat and Nadja, assigned to China and Canada, text him both individual congratulations and one in their group chat for good measure. Maria buys him a cupcake.

His favorite congratulations is Rolf’s, though. Rolf pins him to the bed, produces a condom from somewhere, and delivers his first blowjob. Objectively it’s terrible, too many teeth and too much drool, and so is the one Chris gives him in thanks, but both giving and receiving are up high on his list of best things he’s ever experienced. “Sex is  _ great,” _ he breathes with Rolf still stretched out on top of him, and his best friend-turned-boyfriend laughs at him.

He’s on the ice more than ever, drilling and dancing and spinning up a storm, until Josef claps him on the shoulder and says he’s ready. The competition isn’t for a few more weeks, and it doesn’t mean any lightening of his pace, but Chris beams all the same. “Now do it again, and think of what you can do if you flub a quad,” Josef commands. Chris groans but obeys.

His coach calls him into his office in early November. “Shut the door,” he directs, sitting down. Chris does so and drops into the chair opposite him. “I want you to know, I’m not singling you out,” Josef says, and Chris’ stomach twists. “I give this talk to all my skaters before their first international competition. You’re not going to enjoy it, but it’s important.”

“Is this the point where you tell me I’m a small fish about to be in a huge pond, and not to get my hopes up?” Chris asks, his mouth dry. He’s been working hard to keep his expectations low, truly he has, but sometimes the excitement of his _ first Grand Prix event _ is just too much.

“What?” Josef blinks at him, and then his face crinkles in understanding. “Oh, no, lad, nothing like that. Here, I’ll just spit it out.” He sighs and pulls two boxes out from a drawer, setting them on his desk. One box is marked Ceylor, the other Coltene. Chris almost laughs with relief, but he doesn’t want to have to explain that Josef is a little late for the safe sex talk.

“I don’t want to go all your-body-is-a-temple on you,” Josef says, pushing the boxes across the desk, “but you’re a professional athlete, and you have to take care of yourself. I’ve seen too many skaters fall because they’re not taking the proper precautions. I’m not here to judge you for what you do or don’t choose to do around your skating; I’m just here to make sure you’re being safe.”

Now that the relief is passing, the embarrassment is starting to set in. Besides, Chris has a choice to make here, and an ever-shrinking window of time in which to make it. He looks at Josef’s face, so carefully, studiously blank, and goes all in for bravery. He puts his hand on the box of dental dams and pushes it back across the desk. “I won’t, uh, need those.”

“I see,” Josef says. Chris chances another look at his face, and he’s smiling now, his most reassuring one. Chris relaxes a little. Josef pushes the dams back toward him. “Take them anyway,” he suggests. “They’ll come in handy regardless.”

Chris kind of really wants to ask how dental dams come in handy for gay men, but also he does  _ not _ want to have that talk with his coach, so he stuffs both boxes into his skate bag. “I’ll be safe,” he makes himself say. “Anything else?”

Josef shakes his head. “You’re done for the day.” Chris flashes him a quick smile and flees.


	6. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris lets out a little whimper as Rolf’s teeth worry at the skin of his neck. “Don’t leave a mark,” he hisses, squirming under his friend.
> 
> “I _won’t_ ,” Rolf says, kissing the spot and then licking it before moving further down. “You have to let that go.”
> 
> “I’ll let it go when my mother lets me coming home with a love bite go,” Chris says. Rolf doesn’t answer, just shifts his thigh further up between Chris’ legs. Chris rocks into it with a sigh. “I really should be getting home,” he goes on, just to feel Rolf’s hands tighten where they’re pinning his wrists to the bed. “I have a flight tomorrow.”

Chris lets out a little whimper as Rolf’s teeth worry at the skin of his neck. “Don’t leave a mark,” he hisses, squirming under his friend.

“I _won’t,”_ Rolf says, kissing the spot and then licking it before moving further down. “You have to let that go.”

“I’ll let it go when my mother lets me coming home with a love bite go,” Chris says. Rolf doesn’t answer, just shifts his thigh further up between Chris’ legs. Chris rocks into it with a sigh. “I really should be getting home,” he goes on, just to feel Rolf’s hands tighten where they’re pinning his wrists to the bed. “I have a flight tomorrow.”

“You have a flight at two in the afternoon tomorrow,” Rolf says into Chris’ collarbone, “and I haven’t gotten you off yet.”

“Well, get to it.” Chris hitches his hips up into Rolf’s again and the boy laughs.

“Impatient,” he murmurs, shifting up to kiss Chris on the mouth. “How do you want it?”

“Mmm, I want your hand.” Chris bites his lip, then says, “And if you could keep holding my wrists down at the same time...”

Rolf’s dark eyes glitter with laughter. “Like that, do you?”

“This afternoon has been very informative,” Chris says primly, only to have to muffle a moan as Rolf takes one hand off his wrist to palm the bulging crotch of his trousers. “Rolf, please, I watched you come _half an hour ago_ and you’ve been torturing me ever since,” he says in a voice that is only just barely not a whine. “Please touch me.”

Rolf kisses him again, deep and hard, and shifts his weight off him. “Alright, off.” Chris scrambles to push his trousers and briefs down to mid-thigh and then Rolf kneels over him. “Put your hands together,” he says, settling his weight on Chris’ legs. Chris links his hands together over his head and Rolf leans forward to wrap one hand around his wrists. The other he licks and wraps around Chris’ cock.

Chris swears and Rolf laughs again, setting up the rhythm they’d worked out together that sends Chris a little wild. Chris moans a bit louder and pushes back against the hand over his wrists, testing Rolf’s grip; Rolf pushes them down further and his gaze grows sharp. “Oh fuck,” Chris whispers, more than a little lost in his friend’s eyes. “God, you’re so _hot,_ Rolf.”

“Me?” Rolf grins. “That means a lot coming from you, Christophe. Do you have any idea how good you look like this?” Chris gasps, his cock pulsing in Rolf’s hand. “I think you were born to be a lover,” Rolf goes on, speeding up a little and tightening his grasp. “You were born to make love, and I’m going to go to my grave lucky enough to have been your first.”

 _“Fuck,”_ Chris bites out, his eyes falling shut as he tenses and comes. “Fuck, shit, thank you,” he gasps, his back arching off the bed, hands still pinned firmly down. “Thank you, _shit,_ ah...”

Rolf holds him down until he’s done, then kneels up and reaches for a tissue to clean his hand and Chris’ stomach. “Gorgeous,” he proclaims, running his palm down Chris’ newly-cleaned abs, which are still quivering as he caught his breath.

Chris pushes himself up on one hand and catches Rolf behind the head with the other, pulling him into a bruising kiss. “I really do have to go now,” he murmurs against his lips, snickering when Rolf pouts.

“Fine,” Rolf says, falling back against his pillows as Chris works his clothes back on and rolls off the bed. “Jet off to your _international competition,_ with positively _hordes_ of nubile athletes to replace me with. I see how it is.”

Chris grins, shrugging his jacket on and pacing back over to the bed. He catches Rolf’s face in his hands and looks him in the eye. “I’m yours until December,” he says. “I promised, and I keep my promises.”

“I wish it could be longer,” Rolf confesses, biting his lip.

“So do I,” Chris says. “But we still have some time. And I promise to think of you and only you when I jerk off in the hotel shower.”

That makes Rolf smile, and Chris leaves him with a warm heart, in addition to the post-orgasm lassitude in his limbs.

His parents see him into Josef’s car the next day, his father’s big hand on his head and booming, “Be magnificent,” staying with him long after he’s buckled into his seat on the plane. The flight is only an hour and a half and he intends to do homework, but instead finds himself blinking awake as the plane lands in France.

“I hope this doesn’t mean you were up all night,” Josef murmurs to him, but he smiles when Chris looks guiltily at him. “It’s alright,” he says, unbuckling himself to reach up for their bags. “You’re young; you’ll bounce back.”

There’s no one he knows competing at this event, so he does manage to get all his homework done in between public and private practice times. It’s his first Grand Prix event, so there are also plenty of interviews to get through; he thinks he does well enough, and Josef squeezes his shoulder when they’re finally done with another smile.

Mao Asada smiles at him once in the elevator. He texts Lea _immediately._

He spends the morning of the short program stretching in the waiting area with the other skaters in his group, trying not to quail at all the talent packed into the space with him. Josef, ever the coach, just keeps pouring water into him and keeping him focused on the task at hand, which is loosening his hamstrings. “There’s no one here but you that you have to care about,” Josef says quietly. “Focus on yourself, and ignore the others.

“If you don’t think you can land the quad, don’t do it,” Josef goes on once he’s rinkside and Chris is on the ice. “Put in the substitute like we practiced.”

“I can do it, Josef,” Chris insists.

“Christophe.” Chris looks at him. “Don’t push yourself harder than you can take,” Josef says, voice softer. “You have time to achieve all you want to achieve. But you have to work your way up; you can’t just start at the top.”

Chris swallows, hugs him, and heads out.

The quad is at the end of the first half of his program. His step sequence and other jumps go swimmingly, so he throws his all into the big jump. He can tell as soon as he’s in the air that he’s not going to land it cleanly, but it isn’t as bad as he fears in that swift moment; a hand on the ice, but he doesn’t fall. He doesn’t fall, and that’s what he clings to for the rest of his performance, paying extra attention to his turnouts and extensions to maximize his PCS to make up for it.

Josef ruffles his hair in the kiss-and-cry. “I’m proud of you,” he says in Chris’ ear.

“I didn’t land it.”

“But you didn’t lose your head afterward. That’s the mark of a great skater.”

His score is decent, in the high fifties, and Chris’ spirits rise a little as he goes through the post-performance interviews. Josef gives him his phone back eventually, and there are congratulatory messages from his rinkmates, parents, and Rolf and Maria, which warm him further.

Josef has winkled him enough sponsors after last year’s Nationals that he has his own room, and he fulfills his promise to Rolf before washing his hair and sinking into the bed to sleep like the dead.

Chris has two days off before he has to perform again, and he and Josef struck a solemn deal when the schedule was released. Chris spends the 16th of November holed up in his hotel room, studying like a mad thing between his practice times, and then on the 17th, Josef takes him sightseeing. He doesn’t get to see that much of Paris, all told, the wait times at the Eiffel Tower being what they are, but the view from its high balcony is enough to sate him.

“You’ll be here again,” Josef tells him in the cab on the way back to the hotel. “You have a long Grand Prix future in front you.” Chris beams at him.

He has two quads in his free skate. Josef doesn’t warn him about them again, just gives him a look and then hugs him tight. “Go fly,” he whispers.

Chris does. He touches down on the Salchow again, but he lands the quad toe loop cleanly, and it’s enough to propel him to sixth place overall.

He has a Facebook message, he notices before bed that night, once all the interviews and phone calls home are done, from Viktor Nikiforov.

_Viktor Nikiforov_

_ >> Well done _

_Thanks! << _

_Wish I hadn’t touched down on the Sal, though << _

_ >> Your form is clean _

_ >> You’ll get there _

_ >> You’ll be at the Final with me soon enough _

_I hope so << _

Mat and Nadja take him out to lunch when he gets home. It’s a wonder they have time; they’re in the run-up to the Final, poised to do well under their new management. “Coach Accola’s been good for you,” Chris says over grilled chicken and salad.

“He’s definitely a better fit for us technically,” Mat admits.

“Josef gives better hugs, though,” Nadja says, biting into one of her contraband French fries. “Accola’s hardly warm and fuzzy.”

“Are you nervous about the Final?”

“No,” Mat says, at the same time Nadja says, “Terrified.” They laugh at each other. “Mat’s brave,” Nadja says, nudging him under the table. “I’m not.”

“You’re plenty brave,” Mat says quietly, and she grins at him. “What about you?” Mat goes on, turning back to Chris. “Ready for Nationals?”

“I think so,” Chris says. “Nervous, for sure, but my programs are in a good place. If I can just land the Salchow, I’ll be fine.”

“Best thing about ice dancing?” Nadja says. “No quads.” Chris throws a lettuce leaf at her and she cackles.

The next few weeks slip away from him, the only remarkable thing being the moment Rolf finds his prostate by accident. He reciprocates once he’s recovered, driving Rolf to a twitchy orgasm into his mouth, two fingers buried inside him. On the rink, Chris is back to landing the quad Sal consistently, but Josef keeps him drilling it constantly in the run-up to Nationals.

Josef’s team all pack into a train, and an hour and a half later they all spill out of it, spirits high and voices chattering. Chris bunks with Franz, Mat having decamped to another coach; they don’t know each other that well, but Franz is kind, and they get on well enough that Chris doesn’t really mind.

He lands the quad Sal three times in practice. He can hear Josef in his head telling him not to wear himself out, so he calls it there, skating back over to where his coach is waiting. “Looking good,” Josef says.

“I feel good,” Chris admits. “Confident.”

Josef beams at him. “Good.”

He sneaks away long enough to watch Mat and Nadja’s compulsory dance, a small gold finish by over four points, before Josef finds him and drags him back. In turn, he sees them in the crowd for his own short. He spares them a wave before turning back to Josef, who doesn’t say anything, just hugs him and sends him out.

He lands the Sal, praise be to God, and the rest of his program is as clean and tight as he’s ever skated it. 63.96, a personal best by a long shot. Nowhere close to Stephane’s whopping 76.84, of course, but it’s enough to scrape him into second place going into the free.

“Quite a rise from last year,” one of the reporters interviewing him says. “How do you account for it?”

“Someone told me he expected me on the podium this year,” Chris says, bouncing with joyous energy. “I’m trying not to disappoint him.”

Over the next few days, his rinkmates do well too, and Josef lets him go to all of their performances, and even turns a blind eye when he sneaks out for the ice dancing as well. Mat and Nadja take the ice dance gold overall after their original and free dances, and he jumps on Nadja as soon as they’re clear of the podium. She squeezes him back and passes him off to Mat, who claps him in a one-armed hug without hesitation. He smells like sweat and cologne. “Now your turn,” he says. “Go knock them dead.”

“I’m not going to beat Stephane,” Chris says reasonably.

“Not with that attitude,” Nadja says, and he laughs.

Somehow, _somehow,_ he lands his two quads in the free skate cleanly too, and then they’re wrapping a silver medal around his neck and cameras are going off in front of his eyes. “What did I tell you?” Stephane says to him from a step up on the podium, grinning down at him. “I have a nose for it.”

“One day I’ll be where you are,” Chris says recklessly. Stephane winks at him and turns back to the cameras.

His parents hang his silver medal up with all his Juniors ones, polishing it until it shines.

Unfortunately, Nationals being over means it’s suddenly mid-December, and the thing Chris has been dreading is just around the corner. He and Maria schedule a going-away party for Rolf for three days after classes end, and he and Rolf make their proper goodbyes the day before, locking themselves in Chris’ room with what’s left of his box of condoms.

He gets Rolf off once with his hands and once with his mouth, staying stretched out on top of him afterwards, Rolf kissing him lazily. “You’re getting so good at that,” his friend says tiredly, running a hand down Chris’ back.

Chris preens. “Practice makes perfect, I guess.” He kisses Rolf again. “Was there anything you wanted to try before you go that we haven’t already done?”

“Mmm, there was one thing I read about.” Rolf pushes a lock of hair out of Chris’ eyes. “Do you have any dental dams?”

“No,” Chris says. “Wait! Yes.” He rolls off Rolf and scrambles for his skate bag, finding the now-dusty box Josef had given him last month.

“Do I want to know why they’re in your skate bag?” Rolf asks.

“It was tremendously awkward, so no,” Chris says. He rips it open, pulls one out, and tosses it to Rolf. “How do you want me?”

“Face down, trousers off, legs apart,” Rolf instructs. Chris hastens to obey. Rolf settles himself between Chris’ spread thighs. Chris hears a crinkling of plastic and feels the dam pressed against his hole, making him squirm, and then Rolf must lean in because _oh. Oh, Christ._ _“This_ is what we use them for?” Chris gasps, exerting all his will not to buck his ass back into Rolf’s nose. “Oh God, _Rolf,_ that feels so good.” Rolf hums against him and licks again, his fingers digging deep into the meat of Chris’ cheeks, and Chris has to bury his face in a pillow to stifle his moans.

Chris makes Rolf brush his teeth after and then pins him back to the bed, kissing him for twenty minutes before caving to the inevitable and letting him up to leave. “I’ll miss you,” Rolf says, sitting on the edge of the bed where he’d insisted Chris stay, naked and disheveled, to watch him go. “These past four months have been amazing.”

Chris reaches out and touches his face. “I’ll miss you too,” he says. “But you’ll keep in touch, and maybe we can visit.”

“There’s always phone sex if we get lonely,” Rolf says, and snickers when Chris does. He kisses him one last time and then he’s gone, Chris’ first love affair packed away as neatly as all the books that had once been on Rolf’s shelves. Chris sheds a few tears, and then reminds himself that he’ll see Rolf tomorrow, and gets up to clean himself off.

**END OF PART ONE**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Tomáš Verner and Moris Pfeifhofer, I stole your scores for my boy.


	7. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whispers start as soon as Chris gets out of the car, and they only get louder when he enters the auditorium and makes his way to the stage.
> 
> “Is that _Chris Giacometti_?”
> 
> “No, it can’t be, Chris is so tiny and cute!”
> 
> “I really think it is; look at his _hair_.”
> 
> “Damn, the offseason was good to him.”
> 
> Chris smirks to himself a little, takes a little extra time unzipping his jacket and shrugging it off before settling into his seat, crossing one leg over the other with a flourish. He’s been hearing those same whispers for a month, but he’s still not tired of them.

The whispers start as soon as Chris gets out of the car, and they only get louder when he enters the auditorium and makes his way to the stage.

“Is that  _ Chris Giacometti?” _

“No, it can’t be, Chris is so tiny and cute!”

“I really think it is; look at his  _ hair.” _

“Damn, the offseason was good to him.”

Chris smirks to himself a little, takes a little extra time unzipping his jacket and shrugging it off before settling into his seat, crossing one leg over the other with a flourish. He’s been hearing those same whispers for a month, but he’s still not tired of them.

The offseason  _ was _ good to him; he’s secure enough in his sense of self to admit it. He’s finished his growth spurt, a good nine centimeters since Nationals, and he’s bulked out considerably. Josef’s poor contract nutritionist has been working his ass off trying to keep Chris’ protein and caloric intake in pace with his growth. At some point in July, sick of the heat and the hair tickling his face when he spun, he took his dad’s shaver to the sides of his head, and the brown roots make the lines of his face look sharper. He’s felt the first pricklings of stubble coming in across his chin too, and while he’s still shaving them off, a beard might be in his future.

In short? He looks  _ good, _ and he knows it. And it feels  _ amazing. _

He was in the press conference at the start of the season last year, with his single Grand Prix assignment, but Josef has assured him that he’ll have two events this year, and he has a good chance of being chosen for Euros and Worlds if he keeps up his momentum, so this year is more important than ever.

And more excitingly, he hasn’t been able to get together with Mat and Nadja since April, and while they’ve seen his pictures on Facebook, he gets the sense that his  _ transformation _ is more startling in person. Odds are Mat won’t react at all, but there’s a  _ chance, _ and Chris is clinging to it like the little gay boy he is.

There’s no sign of them yet, so he pulls out his phone.

_ Mat, Nadja _

_ Are you here yet? << _

_ >> N: Pulling into the parking lot now _

_ >> N: Traffic was hell _

_ >> N: Plus Accola can’t drive _

_ >> M: Be nice _

_ >> N: Why? Are you gonna leak my texts to our coach? _

_ Stop bickering and hurry uuuuuuuup << _

_ I haven’t seen you in *ages* << _

_ >> M: We’re almost there _

_ >> M: Entering the building now _

Chris keeps his eye on the door of the auditorium, and he sees his friends enter a few minutes later, making their way through the press chairs to get to the stage. He stands, and laughs when Mat’s eyes skitter over him, only to widen and turn back. Chris grins as Mat gives him a full once-over, eyes raking over him from head to toe, and winks. Is that a blush on Mat’s cheeks as he nudges Nadja and points? The lights in his eyes means Chris can’t be sure, but he can hope.

“Holy  _ hell,” _ Nadja breathes, rushing up the stairs and throwing herself at Chris. He’s taller than she is now, by a good bit, and she squeezes him tightly and steps back.  _ “Look _ at you.”

“Hi,” he says, grinning down at her.

“You look  _ amazing,” _ she says, beaming. “Doesn’t he, Mat?”

“Yeah,” Mat says. It sounds like his mouth is dry. “You—You look great.”

“Thanks.” Chris winks at him again. Mat coughs and rubs the back of his neck. “I think it’s starting soon,” Chris says, taking pity on him. “Sit with me?”

They settle into chairs, Chris and Nadja chatting away. Mat is even quieter than usual, Chris notices. It makes him want to grin triumphantly, but he keeps it in, focusing instead on Nadja’s story about their choreographer and the new lifts they’re trying this year.

The press conference goes about the same as it had the year before. Mat and Nadja announce their season theme as  _ longing, _ which makes Chris squirm a little in his chair. As much as he’s grown this year, Mat is still a few centimeters taller than he is, he can’t help but notice as he and Nadja are at the podium.

When they finally get to him, Chris declares his theme this season to be  _ growth, _ which gets him a few titters from the crowd. When he turns back to his seat, Nadja rolls her eyes at him, a grin on her face. “When did you get so charming?” she murmurs to him as he sits back down.

“I’ve always been charming,” he corrects her. “The word you’re looking for is  _ roguish.” _

“My mistake,” she says drily. He nudges her with his shoulder. She nudges back. Mat reaches across them both, putting his hand on Chris’ knee to settle them. Chris swallows heavily. Nadja nudges him again.

Josef tracks him down after the press conference is done, nodding politely to Mat and Nadja. “Ready to go?” he asks Chris.

Chris hugs Nadja again. “Let’s not go this long without seeing each other again, okay?” he says.

“No way,” she agrees. “Fingers crossed we’ll be at some Grand Prix events together.”

“If not, at least the Final,” Chris declares. She nods decisively.

Mat holds out his hand. Chris isn’t sure they’ve ever shaken hands before, but he’s willing to go with it. Mat’s hand is big and dry, and he has a nice firm grip. “Good luck this season,” Mat says. It looks like he’s looking at Chris’ nose instead of his eyes as he says it.

“You too,” Chris says, before letting Josef sweep him away.

“Lots of attention on you this year,” Josef comments in the car, Chris buckled into the passenger seat and flipping through Josef’s CD collection idly.

He smiles at his coach. “All good.”

“Mmm. Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“The real question is, why was the press conference before the assignments?” Chris wonders, putting the CD case back in the glove box and leaning back.

“Someone’s asleep at the ISU,” Josef grumbles. Chris laughs. “It doesn’t matter. I have my ear to the ground. They’ll be coming next week, so get ready.”

“Yes, Coach,” Chris quips, causing Josef to roll his eyes.

The Grand Prix assignments do, in fact, come out the next week. As predicted, Chris is given two this year: the Cup of China and NHK, in early November and late November respectively. “Quick turnaround,” his mother comments, looking at the schedule.

“I’ll have to talk to my teachers about schoolwork,” Chris says. “It’s not going to be fun.”

His father kisses him on the head. “You’ll manage,” he says. “You’ll be—”

“Magnificent,” Chris says with him, grinning.

He scans the skater lists for Mat and Nadja’s names. They’re scheduled for Paris and Canada; no overlap with him. What he  _ does  _ notice is Viktor NIkiforov’s name, set down for both of the same events as Chris. He pulls up his laptop and opens the long-dormant Facebook message window.

_ Viktor Nikiforov _

_ Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other this year << _

_ >> Good. I’ve been waiting for you to catch up _

_ Flattery! Be still my heart << _

_ I didn’t keep you waiting that long << _

_ >> Long enough _

_ >> Growth, huh? _

_ You watched my press conference? << _

_ >> Keeping an eye on the competition _

_ Well, it’s no bondage << _

_ What’s yours this year? I haven’t had a chance to look << _

_ >> “Ambiguity” _

_ Well, that’s... something << _

_ >> Yakov’s idea, not mine _

_ >> My intentions have always been crystal clear _

_ >> See you in Beijing _

_ Looking forward to it << _

School isn’t the same without Rolf. Last semester wasn’t either, but it’s particularly striking this year, going to the pre-school party with just Maria on his arm. He sends him pictures of his new abs and gets tons of drooling emojis in return, but it’s not the same as having Rolf actually under him, next to him, winking conspiratorially at him.

His teachers this year have heard of him, at least, and most of them seem willing to work with him around his competition schedule. Only his new physics teacher gives him pushback, but he manages to get enough assignments moved early or late that he thinks he can manage his science workload around skating.

He and Josef commissioned his costumes in August, just before the press conference, and come mid-September they’re ready for final approval. His short program is pretty standard, a white shirt and black slacks tailored narrowly over his ass and legs, a slim black tie to finish it off. His music is a slow jazz number, and he’d fought hard for a hat but Josef had overruled him, claiming it would just be distracting.

His free skate, though, is a different beast entirely. In July Josef had given in to the inevitable, and his music is a low, sultry, bassy piece that Chris had found in a number of club playlists at the end of the school year. His costume is a tight red bodysuit with rhinestones, and he’s spent the summer at Maria’s makeup table, learning how to use everything he’ll need for his face. Makeup is standard for all skaters, the bright lights of the rink being what they are, but this goes beyond the basic foundation and blush he’s used to. She introduces him to a world of eyeshadow and lip liner and contouring, and together they come up with something that makes him look, in a word,  _ fabulous. _

_ Nadja _

_ [img] << _

_ [img] << _

_ Short and free respectively << _

_ >> Omg!!!!! _

_ >> Smokin _

_ >> Much sexier than anything I get to wear _

_ That’s not true << _

_ I saw your blue dress from last year << _

_ Fire << _

_ >> Okay, fair _

_ >> But this year is dire _

_ >> Our theme is ‘longing’ so Accola wants us conservative and repressed _

_ >> Poor Mat looks like he belongs in a marching band _

_ Omg << _

_ Ngl I’d pay a little to see that << _

_ >> You won’t have to _

_ >> We’ll all be at the Final together, right? _

_ Right! << _

_ I’m in both my events with Viktor Nikiforov << _

_ >> The men’s singles wunderkind? _

_ >> Are you nervous? _

_ A little << _

_ He seems to be expecting a lot from me << _

_ >> You’ll deliver, babe _

_ >> You always do _

_ <3 <3 <3 << _

_ So will you << _

_ >> <3 <3 <3 _

_ >> Gotta run, back to practice _

_ Kill those twizzles! << _

Chris’ life becomes an endless cycle of practice and schoolwork and working out and baked chicken breasts and protein smoothies, over and over and over until suddenly it’s November and he has to get on a plane in a few days. He gets the okay to focus on skating from ninety percent of his teachers, packs his fucking physics textbook into his checked luggage (half-hoping the airline will lose it, or just the book), and runs through his programs one more time for Josef. He has five contingency plans for missed jumps over both programs; he and Josef go over them so often he’s saying them in his sleep.

As usual, his parents see him into Josef’s car with a hug and a “Be magnificent” respectively. He slings his luggage into the trunk and gets into the passenger seat, and the nerves all hit at once.

“Are you ready, lad?” Josef asks as they pull away from the house.

“You tell me,” Chris says, trying not to worry at his fingernail with his teeth.

“I think you are,” Josef replies. “But only you know for sure.”

Chris groans and buries his face in his hands. “I’ve never been this nervous before.”

“It’s your first full season,” Josef says. “It’s natural.” He puts a hand on the back of Chris’ neck, wonderfully warm and steadying. “Take it from an old man who’s been through this countless times. You’ll be fine. Even if you miss the Final, there’s always another season.”

“I’m not going to miss the Final,” Chris says, trying to say it firmly enough that he believes it. “I’m going to make it.”

“That’s the ticket,” Josef says approvingly, and drives on.


	8. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hotel in China is relatively nice, as skating hotels go, but it’s the shower that really wins Chris over, the powerful water pressure pounding into his neck and back as he conditions his hair after the long, long, cramped flights. Josef had made Chris choose between first-class seats or his own room, and he’d chosen the room; he’ll have to garner enough sponsors to ensure both for next season.
> 
> He meets Josef outside their rooms and they head out together to find somewhere to eat. Both of them are starving enough that they settle for the first place they find, hot pot on the corner of the block, and they dig in ravenously.
> 
> Once they’re sated, they wander slowly back to the hotel. It’s chilly enough that just that short walk makes Chris wish he’d brought a scarf. As they near the hotel, a cab pulls up in front of it, discharging two figures that Chris recognizes with a start. That head of long, silvery hair is unmistakable, even in the dark.

The hotel in China is relatively nice, as skating hotels go, but it’s the shower that really wins Chris over, the powerful water pressure pounding into his neck and back as he conditions his hair after the long, long, cramped flights. Josef had made Chris choose between first-class seats or his own room, and he’d chosen the room; he’ll have to garner enough sponsors to ensure both for next season.

He meets Josef outside their rooms and they head out together to find somewhere to eat. Both of them are starving enough that they settle for the first place they find, hot pot on the corner of the block, and they dig in ravenously.

Once they’re sated, they wander slowly back to the hotel. It’s chilly enough that just that short walk makes Chris wish he’d brought a scarf. As they near the hotel, a cab pulls up in front of it, discharging two figures that Chris recognizes with a start. That head of long, silvery hair is unmistakable, even in the dark.

Viktor and his coach seem to be arguing about something as Chris and Josef draw near. The Swiss men pass under a streetlamp and Viktor’s eye catches on them, his angry Russian drawing to a stop as he takes them in. Feltsman keeps walking, but Viktor stops, eyes sweeping Chris up and down. To Chris’ surprise, there’s an assessing look in Viktor’s eyes, and a pleased curl to his mouth that he thinks he understands, before Viktor nods at them and follows after his coach.

Well.  _ That’s _ an interesting development.

Chris quickly looks at Josef, but the man is studying the wall of the hotel and doesn’t seem to have noticed. “Interesting architecture,” Chris says, and Josef nods, turning back to him with a smile.

The next day is for practice, getting used to the competition rink and stretching out after their flights. Chris lands all his jumps and flies through his spins and steps until Josef sends him back to the hotel to rest and catch up on his schoolwork. As he’s leaving the ice, he sees Viktor step onto it, all willowy limbs and flowing hair. He catches sight of Chris looking and winks; Chris bites his lip, a delightful tingling in his nerves, and goes to obey his coach’s orders.

Chris wakes the next day like someone has thrown water in his face, all at once with a start. Josef feeds him a carefully nutritious breakfast and sends him for a short run to get out his nerves, and then they head over to the rink to get settled.

The morning passes quickly, lunch a protein shake and a granola bar. Chris is in the second group to skate, and warms up slowly and steadily, Josef occasionally correcting his form with a hand on his arm or his back.

When he takes the ice, he’s surprised to find himself calm. Josef doesn’t say anything, and Chris doesn’t need him to; he hugs his coach and heads out in a contemplative silence.

It’s a good skate. It’s not the best skate of the day, not by a long shot, but when the announcer reads out his score and Josef hugs him, Chris feels nothing but contentment with the day’s work. The congratulatory message in his Facebook from Viktor doesn’t hurt either.

There are two days between men’s singles events, and Chris spends them constantly turning his head, catching flashes of silver out of the corner of his eye that vanish whenever he tries to look more closely. Eventually he stops chasing them; if Viktor wants to flit around him like a moth around a candle, Chris isn’t going to complain.

He’s in fifth going into the free skate, and Viktor’s in third. Chris knows his chances of making the podium are low; he only has two quads in his free, fewer than Viktor’s and others’ three. But the chance is there, and he’s going to try for it.

_ Hey, Viktor, _ he thinks to himself as he takes center ice, falling into his starting pose.  _ Watch this. _

It isn’t, in the end, enough to podium, and there’s the bitter sting of disappointment that goes along with fourth place. It is, however, enough to earn him a body coming up behind him at the banquet, and a familiar voice saying in surprising, accented French, “You did well.”

Chris turns to see Viktor lounging against the wall next to him, a glass of champagne in hand. “Congratulations on your silver,” he says, also in French.

“It’ll be gold next time,” Viktor says. His eyes flick over to Chris’ face. “And you’ll be next to me.”

“Fingers crossed,” Chris says.

Viktor waves this aside. His hair is up in a tight ponytail, tendrils drifting around his face; he looks ethereal even in the slightly stodgy suit he’s chosen for the evening. “I’m pleased you’re finally properly competitive,” he says, taking a sip.

“Why?” Chris asks, honestly curious. “I’m flattered you’ve taken an interest in me, but why me?”

Viktor shrugs. “A man needs a foil.”

Chris snorts. “I’m your foil now?”

“I don’t mean it as an insult,” Viktor says, looking more sharply at him. “Our styles are very different, yet your scores at your level are roughly where mine were at your age, and both are high. You won Juniors the year after me, and we have very different images. To be each other’s foil seems natural.”

“Hmm.” Chris eyes him; he seems perfectly sincere. “Alright. Sure. I’ll be your foil. Or maybe you’ll be mine.”

Viktor grins, sharp and glinting as a knife. “I’ll be the one in gold.”

“We’ll see about that,” Chris says, returning the grin. He holds out his glass and Viktor toasts him, both drinking. “See you in Tokyo,” Chris goes on, taking a step away. “Hopefully in a better suit; that one doesn’t flatter you at all.” He turns, hearing Viktor’s shocked laugh behind him, and goes to find Josef.

The rest of November doesn’t seem nearly long enough to have two events before the NHK Trophy; he barely has time to churn out three essays and watch Mat and Nadja earn silver medals in Paris before Josef is packing him into another set of international flights, this time to Japan. “This is the life of a competitive skater, Chris,” Josef says, watching him groan and crack his neck when they land in Tokyo. “You’ll have to get used to it.”

“I’d get used to it easier in first class,” Chris grumbles.

This competition has a much tighter turnaround time than the Cup of China, packing all its events into three days. They land at dawn on Thursday, enough time for a shower and a few hours’ sleep before evening practice. Viktor is there, looking just as tired as Chris feels, and they nod at each other across the ice.

The next day holds the short programs. Chris has spent the last three weeks refining his, tweaking GOEs and running contingency after contingency. He must be visibly fretting by the time the last pairs team take their bows and the ice turns over to men’s singles, because Josef says, “There’s a whole different crop of skaters at this one, Chris. You have a good chance of medalling here and making the Final.”

“I know,” Chris says. “I  _ know, _ I do. But.”

“But,” Josef says kindly, putting his hand on the back of Chris’ neck. “You’ll be fine.”

“I wish you’d let me add another quad to my free,” Chris says.

“We’ll do it for the Final,” Josef tells him. “You don’t need it here.”

His short goes as well as can be hoped for. It’s a personal best; he finishes out the day in a solid third place, behind Viktor and a skater from Canada. Viktor finds him before he leaves the rink to put a thrilling hand on the back of Chris’ neck and say, “Stay focused. I told you, I want you up there next to me.”

“I will,” Chris promises, more earnestly than he means to, but Viktor just nods and releases him, his hand sliding down Chris’ neck and across his shoulder as he removes it. Chris tingles again at the glint in Viktor’s eyes.

Their day off passes in a blink, and then it’s time to take the ice again. “You’re  _ sure _ I shouldn’t add a surprise quad in?” Chris asks Josef for the dozenth time as he warms up.

“Not without practicing first,” Josef says sharply. “Promise me, Christophe.”

“I promise,” Chris says reluctantly.

In the end, Josef’s right, and so is Viktor; he doesn’t need the extra quad. His programs, as they are, get him a silver medal, and a place at Viktor’s right hand. “Told you,” Viktor calls down to him from the top step. Chris just looks back up at him, letting a little of the heat he feels into his eyes. Viktor’s own eyes narrow, the corner of his mouth turning up.

The hotel is within walking distance of the rink, and, for the second time in his life, Chris sees Viktor lurking at a hotel door waiting for him. “You go ahead,” he tells Josef. “I want a few more minutes in the fresh air.” Josef leaves him, and once Chris sees him enter the elevator through the front doors, he walks toward them himself. Viktor joins him, half a step behind.

“I don’t have your number,” Viktor says in the elevator. “Give me your phone.” Chris does, and watches Viktor enter himself in and send himself a text. “There,” he says, passing it back to Chris. “No more Facebook.”

“No more Facebook,” Chris agrees, and leads him out of the elevator and to the door of his room.

The atmosphere, tight as it was in the elevator, only grows more tense once they’re inside Chris’ room with the door closed. “Take off your shoes,” Chris says, toeing his own off. “Stay awhile.”

Viktor grins sidelong at him and slips out of his shoes, unzipping his jacket as well and tossing it aside onto the floor. To Chris’ secret delight, he reaches up to the tie in his hair and works it loose, his long hair cascading down to his back. “You’re really beautiful,” Chris hears himself say quietly, almost reverently. Viktor flushes a pretty pink, taking a step closer.

Chris takes a step closer too, and then they both take another, until they’re nose to nose. Viktor’s eyes are wide and his breath is coming in short pants, so it falls to Chris to reach up and put a hand on the side of his neck. He looks at Viktor, a question in his face, and waits for Viktor’s nod before leaning in and gently touching their mouths together.

Viktor responds instantly, his hands coming up to curl in the fabric of Chris’ jacket. “Take this off,” he pulls back to murmur, tugging at it. Chris laughs and shrugs out of it, and then he takes Viktor’s hand and leads him to the bed.

They end up stretched out against the pillows, Chris’ torso pinning Viktor down. Viktor gets a hand in his hair and kisses him, a clearly inexpert tongue working between his lips to brush against his own. He puts his other hand on Chris’ neck, a hot pressure that makes Chris groan and press closer.

Chris lets him set the pace, his only venture to slip three fingers beneath the fabric of Viktor’s shirt to touch his skin. Viktor hisses into his mouth, almost a moan, and Chris doesn’t push, just sets himself to caressing Viktor’s waist as they kiss and kiss and kiss.

Viktor grows bolder, pushing up against him with his chest and cocking a leg to wrap around Chris’ where they’re tangled on the comforter. His fingers tug at Chris’ hair, and again at the noise he makes. He smells like hairspray and something floral, and he tastes like raspberry chapstick.

Chris breaks away from his mouth to press a kiss to the corner of his lips, then the jut of his jaw, then just under his ear. “Don’t—” Viktor starts as Chris moves down his neck.

“I know,” Chris murmurs. He keeps his kisses light, no suction, trailing them down one side of Viktor’s throat and up the middle, until he kisses Viktor’s chin and takes his mouth again. They’re both breathing heavily, Viktor letting out soft little sounds of pleasure that go straight to Chris’ cock.

There comes a natural stopping point, an end to their momentum as they breathe against each other’s lips. “I should go,” Viktur murmurs. “Early flight tomorrow.”

“Me too,” Chris says. He steals another kiss before leaning back, letting Viktor sit up and adjust the hem of his shirt. Viktor’s ears are red, he notes with delight, and reaches out to touch one. Viktor looks at him curiously as he reaches for his shoes. “Like I said,” Chris says. “You’re really beautiful.”

Viktor pulls his shoes on and stands. He puts one hand on either side of Chris’ face and leans down to kiss him deeply, his tongue stealing in for one last taste of Chris’ mouth. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For the compliment and the evening.”

“Both were my pleasure,” Chris says. “You can have a repeat of either anytime.”

Viktor laughs, low and a little dangerous-sounding. “I’ll take you up on that.” He picks his jacket up off the floor and pulls it on. “See you at the Final,” he says over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, Chris falls back onto the bed, fingers scrabbling at the waistband of his pants. He licks across his palm and wraps it around his cock, letting out a moan as he strokes himself. It’s over in a heartbeat, leaving him panting and loose, laughing as he catches his breath.


	9. eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The train to La Chaux-de-Fonds is only an hour and fifteen minutes. As has become tradition, Chris spends it frantically doing homework, writing out his physics lab methodology on top of his textbook while his rinkmates either chatter away or do the same, for the younger ones. The hotel is within walking distance of the train station, so they all load themselves down with luggage and make the trek. Chris is bunking alone this year, which is a relief; honestly, he thinks his days of roommates at competitions are behind him.
> 
> He catches sight of Nadja in the hotel lobby and sneaks up behind her, wrapping his hands around her eyes. She jabs back with her elbow and laughs. “No one else uses that cologne,” she says. “I could smell you a mile away.”
> 
> “Lies,” Chris declares. “I smell like train, and I’ve a moderate hand with the cologne.”

The train to La Chaux-de-Fonds is only an hour and fifteen minutes. As has become tradition, Chris spends it frantically doing homework, writing out his physics lab methodology on top of his textbook while his rinkmates either chatter away or do the same, for the younger ones. The hotel is within walking distance of the train station, so they all load themselves down with luggage and make the trek. Chris is bunking alone this year, which is a relief; honestly, he thinks his days of roommates at competitions are behind him.

He catches sight of Nadja in the hotel lobby and sneaks up behind her, wrapping his hands around her eyes. She jabs back with her elbow and laughs. “No one else uses that cologne,” she says. “I could smell you a mile away.”

“Lies,” Chris declares. “I smell like train, and I’ve a moderate hand with the cologne.”

“Whatever you say, love,” she says, patting him on the cheek. “Mat’s around here somewhere; want to grab dinner tonight?”

“Sure,” Chris says. “Let me drop my bags in my room and wash my face and I’ll meet you.” He kisses her on the cheek and makes for the desk to check in.

Clothes shaken out, excess cologne discreetly washed off, and face crisp and clean, he texts Nadja and gets an address three blocks away for what appears on his Maps app to be a Thai place. She and Mat are already seated when he arrives, but Mat stands as he approaches.

“Good to see you,” Mat says, holding out his hand. Chris shakes it, amused, and sits across from them, flipping the menu open.

“Congratulations on making the Final,” he tells them, scanning for the safest food option with a competition the next day.

“You too,” they say in unison, Nadja laying a hand on his arm. When he looks up, she’s smiling at him, and there’s a pleased quirk to the edge of Mat’s mouth that means he’s as happy as Chris is that they’ll all be there together.

They order, the waiter taking their menus away, and Nadja leans forward across the table. “To the meat of the matter,” she says, ducking her head close to his. “How nervous are you, with Stephane out of the game?”

Chris groans theatrically and she cackles. “Don’t remind me,” he says. “God knows Josef won’t shut up about how  _ this is your year, Christophe. _ I’m losing my  _ mind.” _

“No need to lose your mind,” Mat says. Chris looks at him. “The gold is all but yours,” he goes on, leaning back in his chair. The top button of his shirt is undone, revealing a very distracting strip of collarbone.

“All but,” Chris says, forcing his eyes up to Mat’s face. There’s a little twinkle in Mat’s eye that Chris immediately decides not to read into. “With Stephane gone, it’s anyone’s game.”

“Nonsense,” Nadja says. “You’re the best men’s skater Switzerland has, without him.”

“I doubt he’s gone for good anyway,” Chris says. “He’ll be back for the next Olympics.”

“All the same,” Mat says. “It’s yours in the meantime. There’s no one else in your league.”

Chris can feel himself start to glow under Mat’s praise, and to offset it, he shoots back, “And what about you two? Is anyone else even competing in ice dance, or can you just waltz in and take the medal?”

“First of all, we won’t be waltzing,” Nadja says. “The compulsory is the paso doble.”

“Sexy,” Chris drawls.

“And yes, there are other competitors.”

“You’ll sweep the floor with them,” he declares. She dimples at him, and when he looks at Mat, the man is smiling confidently, still lounging back in his chair.

Their food comes then and conversation slows as they eat. It’s decent fare, filling and well-made, and when the check comes, Mat snatches it before either Chris or Nadja can move.

“Hey,” Nadja objects, grabbing for it as he holds it out of her reach.

“We’ll split it like always,” Chris says. “What’s the total, Mat?”

Mat shakes his head, slipping his card into it and shutting it tightly. “Nope. It’s on me tonight.”

“On our sponsors, you mean,” Nadja says, relenting. “Fine. If you want to play the gentleman, I won’t complain.”

“Chris?” Mat says, his eyes focusing on Chris’ face. “Any complaints from you?”

There’s something going on here that Chris doesn’t quite understand, an undercurrent he isn’t tapped into, but he just shrugs. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

Mat’s eyes grow sharp, until Chris almost has to shift under his gaze, and then he backs down and lays the check sleeve on the table with a nod, his card sticking out of the edge.

Nationals this year is another quick turnaround, three days to pack everything in. With men’s gold on the line, Chris is busy and stressed, but he takes the time to go see Mat and Nadja perform. Mat does look a bit like he belongs in a marching band during their original dance, it’s true, but their dances are pitch-perfect all the same, so full of longing and repressed desire that Chris is almost moved to tears. It’s a well-earned gold wrapped around each of their necks, and Chris shoots them both congratulatory texts before Josef drags him back to practice.

His short program goes well, leaving him in first place going into the free by a solid four points. As he straps himself into the bodysuit for the last skate, he focuses on steady breathing and clear thoughts.  _ Just because Stephane isn’t here, it doesn’t mean the gold is mine just because I’m in first place so far, _ he tells himself a million times.  _ I have to work for it. _ Jamal Othman, currently in second, has just as much chance as Chris does to take the title.

“Focus,” Josef tells him. “This will determine Euros and Worlds. You’re guaranteed spots in both, unless you mess this free skate up. So don’t mess it up.”

“Reassuring,” Chris says drily.

“I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t think you could handle it,” Josef counters. “Keep your head and you’ll be fine.”

He sees Mat and Nadja in the crowd as he takes center stage, both of them holding either side of a sign with his name on it. He snorts to himself, takes his pose, and waits for the music.

As he skates, he keeps thinking of that sign, held by his friends. He thinks of the collarbone Mat had on display last night, he thinks of the way Mat’s hand went to his lower back as he escorted him out of the restaurant, he thinks of the way Viktor’s hair felt between his fingers as Chris kissed him senseless. He lands both his quads and earns himself a national title.

It’s his first time at the top of a podium since Juniors, and it feels  _ good. _ The cameras flash in his eyes; the gold of the medal clashes  _ horribly _ with his bright red costume; someone at some point has given him flowers to hold, and their scent is all that’s keeping him tethered.  _ This is what I was born for, _ he thinks, and he tips his head back and grins to the roof of the rink.

“Good job,” Josef tells him on the train back to Bern. “Do it again in Goyang.”

Chris spends the next four days frantically training his free skate with three quads, and then they’re off again, a twenty-hour flight to South Korea that Chris spends half asleep and half working on fucking physics homework. Josef wakes him when they land, and Chris is asleep within half an hour of arriving at the hotel, just long enough to strip his clothes off and wash the plane from his hair.

He wakes to find a text from Viktor.

_ Viktor _

_ >> Just arrived. Let’s have dinner. _

_ Not up for anything more complex than room service, I’m afraid << _

_ >> I’m in, if you don’t mind company. Bill my food to my room _

_ Come on up, then << _

Viktor sends him his order and Chris calls it down, stretching the residual soreness out of his body. Viktor arrives before the food does, slipping past Chris into the room with a trail of the same flowery scent he’d had before. “How were your flights?” he asks, settling onto Chris’ bed like he owns it and kicking his shoes off.

“Hellish,” Chris says, and goes to sit next to him. “Yours?”

“Disgusting.” Viktor frowns at the memory, and Chris can’t help but lean in and catch that pout with his own lips.

Viktor responds with a delighted little purr in the back of his throat, reaching up to hang a hand off Chris’ collar and pull him closer. His kisses are more skilled than they’d been the last time; he’s clearly been practicing, which makes Chris feel warm and hungry. They make out for the twenty minutes it takes for the food to arrive, and Chris flushes with pride at the bitten pinkness of Viktor’s lips as they set into their meals.

“Congratulations on your Nationals medal,” Viktor says over his steak. “Even without Lambiel, your performance was impressive.”

“Thanks?” Chris says, trying to work out if he’s been insulted. “Are you nervous for yours?”

“No,” Viktor says, shaking his head. “I don’t get nervous; I get focused.”

“Must be nice.”

“Are you nervous now?” Viktor asks curiously, regarding him.

“Sure.” Chris shrugs. “I’m still a relative newcomer, all things considered. My medalling would be an upset.”

“So upset them,” Viktor says, taking another bite. “It’s as simple as that.”

“I admire your outlook on the world,” Chris says drily, turning back to his own chicken.

They finish their food and push the plates aside, flopping down on the bed to face each other on their sides. “Have you added a third quad to your free skate?” Viktor asks, his nose almost brushing Chris’.

Chris nods. “Not sure how it’ll go, but I’m going to try.”

“Good,” Viktor says. “I respect trying.”

Chris props himself up on one elbow. “Well, I’m glad you respect me.”

“Of course I do,” Viktor says. He reaches up to trail one finger across Chris’ jaw. He needs to shave; Viktor’s finger scrapes across stubble, and it makes him shiver. “I wouldn’t be attracted to you if I didn’t respect you.”

That’s all it takes, that and the pull of Viktor’s hand on his jaw; Chris dives into Viktor’s mouth, which opens for him with a soulful groan. He braces his forearm against the mattress and puts the other hand on Viktor’s waist, pulling their bodies tight together as Viktor takes his tongue between his lips.

Viktor’s leg hitches up around his waist, pressing their hips against each other, and Chris moans. Viktor bites his lip and pulls at his hair, altogether a different beast from the tender, shy kisser Chris had encountered in Tokyo.

They kiss and grind against each other until the sounds of their hook-up are cut through by a text alert Chris doesn’t recognize. Viktor groans, this time in frustration, and fishes his phone out of his pocket. “It’s Yakov,” he says with a grimace, tapping at the screen. “He wants to see me.”

Chris sighs but rolls off him. Viktor sits up and winces. “I can’t see him in this condition,” Viktor says, looking down at his lap, where there is a definite bulge in his sweatpants. “He’ll kill me.”

Chris puts a hand on his knee. “Want some help with it?”

Viktor looks up at him, eyes a deep, dark blue. “Would you?” Chris nods and Viktor kisses him again. “Alright,” he breathes.

“Sweatpants down,” Chris says. Viktor stands long enough to shimmy them to mid-thigh and then sits down again. Chris licks across his palm, then catches Viktor’s eye. “Hey,” he says, calm and reassuring. “Kiss me.” Viktor obeys instantly, and as his lips interlock with Chris’, Chris wraps his slick hand around Viktor’s cock.

Viktor groans, deep and loud, and grabs at him as he starts to stroke, slow at first and picking up the pace as he goes. Viktor loses the ability to kiss back fairly quickly into matters, so Chris nudges his head aside and goes for his neck, leaving light, barely-there kisses down his throat as his hand works him fast and tight.

“Yes,” Viktor whines, tossing his head back even further. “Yes, Chris, that’s so good. Feels so good, your hand...” He trails off into Russian, and then he rocks his head forward again, pressing his cheek to Chris’ as his cock pulses in Chris’ hand and erupts.

Chris kisses him through the comedown, hand still moving slowly on his cock until he can breathe steadily again. “Thank you,” Viktor murmurs, tilting up to brush his lips over Chris’ one more time.

Before he can do much more, his phone chimes again and he scowls. “I really have to go,” he says, flicking his eyes down at Chris’ crotch, with a noticeable bulge of its own.

“Go,” Chris says. “I’ll get off in the shower thinking of you.”

“I’ll pay you back,” Viktor says, standing and pulling his trousers up. “Soon.”

“No rush,” Chris says, leaning back on his hands as Viktor pulls his shoes on. “We have days.”

Viktor grabs him again for a final, hard kiss. “Soon,” he promises, looking Chris in the eye, and then departs, leaving Chris to a long, hot shower and the tightness of his own hand.

He sleeps like the dead, waking later than usual. Still plenty of time before morning practice, at least, and plenty of time to deal with the situation in his briefs that dreaming of Viktor brought on. Before tending to it, though, he checks his phone.

_ Viktor Nikiforov _

_ >> I bought condoms _

_ You didn’t have to << _

_ I have plenty << _

_ >> Good for me to have my own _

_ >> I thought I might catch you with a morning erection you needed help with _

_ [img] << _

_ >> I’ll be right up _

Chris doesn’t bother dressing, and Viktor gives him an appreciative look up and down when he arrives. He pushes Chris back to the bed and kisses him, tangling a hand in his hair and tugging a little. “Ready?”

Chris laughs. “Ready.” He lifts his hips enough to pull his briefs down and off, tossing them aside.

“You really are quite gorgeous,” Viktor says conversationally, sinking to his knees between Chris’ legs.

“Thank you,” Chris murmurs, running his hand across the back of Viktor’s head.

Viktor produces a condom from his pocket and Chris tears it open and rolls it on. As his preliminary move, Viktor reaches out and runs a finger from tip to base, making Chris hiss, and then he grasps hold, tilts Chris’ cock towards his mouth, and takes him between his lips.

“Oh Christ,” Chris swears, stomach tensing as Viktor starts to work him slowly, a few inches at a time disappearing between his stretched lips.  _ “Fuck, _ who taught you how to suck cock?” Viktor’s  _ good _ at it, teasing Chris, flicking his tongue against the vein, gently stroking what can’t fit in his mouth with his hand. Viktor just hums around him and drops him a wink before refocusing.

Chris leans his torso back, bracing himself on his hands, and Viktor swarms up into his lap, until he’s taking Chris into his mouth almost vertically. Chris lets himself groan loudly, balling his fists into the sheets to keep from thrusting up into Viktor’s mouth. “Fuck, that’s good,” he says, and Viktor’s hollowed cheeks turn a pretty pink. “You’re gonna make me come, Viktor, just keep doing that,  _ oh.” _

Viktor works him right up to the brink and over, sucking him hard as the aftershocks pulse through his cock into the condom. “Shit,” Chris breathes, hanging his head back. “That was  _ amazing.” _

Viktor leans back, smugness written all across his face. “No point doing something if you’re not going to do it well.”

“Can I do anything for you?” Chris asks, sitting back up.

Viktor shakes his head. “I’m good, I just wanted to pay you back.”

“Viktor,” Chris says. “It’s not an exchange.”

Viktor rolls his eyes. “I  _ know, _ Chris, I just didn’t want to say that I dreamed of your cock in my mouth.”

“Now, why wouldn’t you want to say that?” Chris says with a smirk. “Sounds a fine thing to say to me.”

“Ugh,” Viktor says expressively, turning on his heel. “You better not slack off,” he calls over his shoulder as he opens the door. “I want a proper fight.” Chris salutes him, and he smirks and lets the door fall shut behind him.


	10. nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and Viktor don’t get any more time together during the Final, but Chris rides his Nationals gold and Final fourth place into spots at the European Championships and Worlds, so they’ll have plenty of opportunity in the future.
> 
> Josef drills him hard on his free skate in the weeks between the Final and Euros, until he’s seeing jump compositions behind his eyes when he sleeps, and then it’s off to Helsinki.
> 
> They arrive two days before the start of the competition, and to Chris’ delight, Mat and Nadja do too. They meet for dinner in a little restaurant three blocks from the competition hotel. “Are you going to do a mating ritual over the check again?” Nadja asks baldly, a glass of wine in. Chris snorts.

Chris and Viktor don’t get any more time together during the Final, but Chris rides his Nationals gold and Final fourth place into spots at the European Championships and Worlds, so they’ll have plenty of opportunity in the future.

Josef drills him hard on his free skate in the weeks between the Final and Euros, until he’s seeing jump compositions behind his eyes when he sleeps, and then it’s off to Helsinki.

They arrive two days before the start of the competition, and to Chris’ delight, Mat and Nadja do too. They meet for dinner in a little restaurant three blocks from the competition hotel. “Are you going to do a mating ritual over the check again?” Nadja asks baldly, a glass of wine in. Chris snorts.

“It’s not a mating dance,” Mat says dismissively. “And no, if you’re so insistent, you can pay your own way this time.”

“It’s sponsors!” Nadja says, doing jazz hands. “It’s all sponsors!” Mat rolls his eyes but covertly winks at Chris.

“I’m knackered,” Nadja says as they walk back to the hotel. It’s snowing lightly, a sweet dusting that makes the Finnish street look like a fairy tale. “It’s a bath and bed for me.”

“I should do the same,” Mat says. “What floor are you on, Chris?”

“Twenty-seven,” Chris says.

“I’m on twenty-six.”

“Fifteen for me,” Nadja says. “Which means I get my own room  _ and _ my own elevator.” They’ve arrived at the hotel, and duck into the warmth of the lobby gratefully. “Good night, boys,” she says, walking toward the elevator that will take her to her floor. “See you at practice tomorrow.”

Mat and Chris wander over to the elevators that service floors twenty-five to thirty. “Are you nervous?” Chris says, falling back on the conversational staple of every competition.

Mat shakes his head. “Not about the competition.”

“What are you nervous about?” Chris asks, but Mat just shakes his head again and steps into the newly-arrived elevator.

The elevators in this hotel are slower than any Chris has been in before, and it takes a long time to get to floor twenty-six. He becomes aware of Mat’s eyes on him, steady and heavy like a weight, and looks up at him.

Mat’s expression is intense, the face Chris has seen on him before every competitive skate since they were rinkmates. As Chris watches, he reaches out, slowly pushing his fingers into Chris’ hair. “You have a leaf,” he murmurs, and pulls it out, flicking it to the floor. A tingle starts at the place Mat had touched him and spreads over Chris’ whole body, and as Mat takes a step closer and leans in Chris lets his eyes fall closed and—

The elevator pulls to a stop. Chris opens his eyes when he remains resolutely unkissed to see that Mat has taken a step back, a look of barely-suppressed fear in his eyes. “I...” he starts, then stops, and starts again. “Goodnight, Christophe,” he says, and then he leaves the elevator, the doors shutting behind him.

“Goodnight,” Chris says to the empty chamber.

He pulls a respectable fifth place at Euros, and again at Worlds, around training and schoolwork and mutual blowjobs with Viktor and texts with Nadja. Mat spends enough time with Chris and Nadja that Chris can’t accuse the man of avoiding him, but he resolutely avoids being alone with Chris. Chris takes the sting of hurt and channels it into his skating.

He turns eighteen a month after the Euros, and three weeks after he graduates with his matura, he moves out of his childhood home into his own place, a tiny studio apartment in the city proper. It’s closer to the rink, closer to Nadja (but farther from Mat), and closer to the gay bars he’s looking forward to spending some time in over the off season. His mother cries when she brings the last box in, and Chris does too, a little, but when they leave and it’s just him and his traditional moving-day pizza, he can’t deny the rush of joy he feels.

Josef sets him the task of choosing his music in early June, and he runs through every playlist he has before admitting defeat. There’s a record store twenty minutes away from his apartment, and one hot day he stops in on his run to peruse their collections, only to find himself perused in turn by the boy behind the counter. The boy is long and lanky, older than Chris but not by much, dressed in a black t-shirt and dramatic eyeliner. Not the sort of man Chris minds eyeing him on his daily run.

Chris catches his eye, expecting the boy to blush or turn away at having been caught staring, but instead he just grins widely and winks. Chris feels a thrum of excited energy run up his spine, his own lips turning up in a grin just as wide, and makes his way up to the counter.

The boy’s nametag says  _ Luca. _ “Looking for music to skate to?” Luca drawls, leaning back in his chair as Chris approaches.

“You know who I am?” Chris asks, surprised.

Luca nods. “I come from a big figure skating household,” he says. His eyes travel up and down Chris’ body before coming to rest again on his face. “Been following your career quite closely.”

Chris lets a little bit of his smirk out. “Well, you’re right. I’m looking for something to skate to next season. What have you got for me?”

“Hmm,” Luca says. He looks over at the clock, then back to Chris. “Nothing today, but we might have something tomorrow. You’d better come back.”

Chris laughs. “Had I?” He ogles Luca in turn, triumph coiling in his stomach when his gaze makes the boy shift in his chair. “Alright,” he says. “See you tomorrow, then.”

He goes back the next day, in a green tank top Nadja says sets off his eyes and the shortest shorts he can find in his closet. Luca lights up when he enters, straightening as Chris comes through the door. “Wasn’t sure you’d come back,” Luca says.

Chris lays his hands on the counter, shifting his weight to loom over it. “You said you’d have something for me,” he says, and Luca grins.

“I do,” he says, picking up a record that’s laying on the counter. “Listen to this.” He sets it in the player beside him and turns it on.

It’s an instrumental piece that Chris has never heard before, all string instruments and speed. “Is that a harp?” Chris asks. Luca nods, a light in his eyes. “I like it,” Chris declares when the song is over. “Perfect for my short program. Do you have it in CD form?” Luca rolls his eyes theatrically but produces a CD and rings Chris up. “Wonderful,” Chris says, showing a bit of teeth. “And what about my free skate?”

Luca winks at him. “It took me all night to conjure your short program up. You’d better come back tomorrow if you want a long program as well.”

Chris does, and goes back the day after that just for the way Luca brightens when he sees him, and the day after that, and so on for three weeks. He learns that Luca is nineteen and home for university break, that he’s a pansexual vegetarian goth, and that he’s just as much of a music snob as one would expect of a boy who spends his breaks working in a record shop. “You really must get a record player,” Luca says to him one day, taking his break with Chris in the alley behind the shop as they share cups of instant coffee from the break room. “It’s about the integrity of the music.”

“They can’t project records onto the rink,” Chris says, “and I’m not buying my music in duplicate.” Luca tuts at him. “Besides,” Chris says, “what would you have to chide me over if I gave in?”

“I wouldn’t have to chide you at all,” Luca says. His eyes grow a little molten. “I could spend my time doing all sorts of other things to you.”

Chris laughs. “You talk a big game, Luca, but it’s been almost a month and you’ve yet to make a move.”

Luca blinks, then laughs. “Alright. You’ve got me there, skater extraordinaire. Cards on the table. I like you.” He smiles, shockingly wholesome. “Let’s have a fling.”

Chris raises an eyebrow. “A fling?”

Luca nods. “I’m going back to university in the fall, and you’ll be busy with skating, so getting serious about each other seems inadvisable. But that doesn’t mean we can’t mean something to each other in the meantime.”

Chris considers this. “Alright,” he says after a moment. “A fling. Sure.”

Luca grins at him. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he warns.

“I’ve only been waiting,” Chris says, and they’re both still laughing when Luca kisses him, snaking a hand up to cup his jaw and pull him in.

They’re in Chris’ bed two weeks later, music playing low and bassy as they kiss lazily and send their hands up each other’s shirts, when Luca finds out Chris has never tried anal sex. “Impossible,” Luca declares. “You have too fine an ass never to have had anything in it.” He sends his hand from where it’s been tweaking Chris’ nipple to run over the body part in question, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Well, it seems you’re in a position to rectify the matter,” Chris murmurs into his neck, sucking hard where it meets his jaw.

“You would want me to?” Luca asks. Chris scrapes his teeth over the suck mark and Luca moans low in his throat, tipping his head back.

“Sure,” Chris murmurs, lying back on the bed and tugging Luca on top of him. “I trust you to be gentle with me, and kind. Why not?”

Luca’s eyes are burning when Chris meets them again, and the lazy afternoon ends with Luca’s head between Chris’ thighs, three of his fingers buried deep in Chris’ ass while Chris writhes and moans.

Chris decides he wants to try bottoming first, and they pick an evening when he doesn’t have to skate the next day. Luca opens him up, slow and steady, until Chris is panting with need, and then Chris settles himself in Luca’s lap and carefully, achingly inches himself down.

“God,” Chris gasps when he’s fully seated, head thrown back and breath coming in ragged gasps.  _ “Christ, _ Luca, this feels incredible.”

“You  _ look _ incredible,” Luca manages. He’s propped up against the pillows, feet planted to give Chris something to rock against, and he’s running his hands all over Chris’ torso and thighs. “You’re so beautiful, Chris, do you know that? The most beautiful person I could have hoped for to spend my summer with.”

Chris laughs, putting a hand on his chest and starting to move himself back and forth, moaning ecstatically at the way Luca’s cock pulls and catches at his rim. “I want to fuck you in every possible way there is to fuck you,” he whispers, looking down at Luca below him, “and then I want you to do the same to me.” Luca gets a hand around the back of his head and pulls him in for a deep, searching kiss, his hips starting to move in tandem with Chris’.

Chris fucks Luca two days later, Luca on his hands and knees and slamming back into Chris with every thrust. They collapse on each other afterwards, panting heavily, and when Luca catches his breath he props himself up on one elbow and asks, “So which do you prefer?”

“I don’t know,” Chris says honestly. He pushes a lock of jet black hair off of Luca’s forehead and grins. “We’d better do them both again, just to be sure.” Luca laughs breathlessly and falls on him, mouth-first.

They take their leave of each other in late August, a farewell sixty-nining the night before Luca’s train back to university. Chris comes first, and once he gets his head back on his shoulders he throws his weight into his arm over Luca’s hips and sucks him dry, Luca’s fingers petting shakily in his hair.

Luca kisses his sore mouth afterwards. “It’s been lovely, my dear,” he murmurs. “Thank you for spending your summer with me.”

“It was my pleasure,” Chris says honestly, pushing his fingers through Luca’s hair. “I’ll miss you.”

“As I will miss you,” Luca says. “But we’ll have the memories.” He smirks. “Call me when they make the documentary about you. I’ll say nothing but complimentary things.”

Chris laughs. “I’ll hold you to that.” He kisses Luca’s grin one more time, walks him to the door, and watches him go down the hallway towards the elevator with nothing but contentment in his heart.


	11. ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris is scheduled for two events in the 2009-2010 Grand Prix series, the Rostelecom Cup and Skate America. There’s no overlap with Mat and Nadja, he notes with disappointment, but Viktor will be in New York with him.
> 
> Without schoolwork to keep on top of, he’s able to fully throw himself into training. Josef loves the music Luca found for him, and his programs are designed to maximize his strengths, so they take his full focus and energy as the summer ends and the series begins. He’s feeling good about them by the time October rolls around, but every time he takes a look at the lineups of his two events, he gets a nervous little quiver in his stomach.

Chris is scheduled for two events in the 2009-2010 Grand Prix series, the Rostelecom Cup and Skate America. There’s no overlap with Mat and Nadja, he notes with disappointment, but Viktor will be in New York with him.

Without schoolwork to keep on top of, he’s able to fully throw himself into training. Josef loves the music Luca found for him, and his programs are designed to maximize his strengths, so they take his full focus and energy as the summer ends and the series begins. He’s feeling good about them by the time October rolls around, but every time he takes a look at the lineups of his two events, he gets a nervous little quiver in his stomach.

_ Viktor _

_ >> Half of my rink will be in Moscow with you _

_ I know, I’m a little terrified << _

_ It’ll be hard enough to make the final this year even without all of Feltsman’s Finest staring me down << _

_ >> You’re competitive against every one of us and you know it _

_ >> That’s not the point _

_ What’s the point, then? << _

_ >> I could convince Yakov to let me tag along _

_ >> If I wouldn’t be a distraction to you _

_ Omg << _

_ You’d come, seriously? << _

_ >> I missed you over the summer _

_ >> And besides, I wouldn’t have to skate _

_ >> Opens up opportunities for activities _

_ Holy shit, Viktor << _

_ Yes, please come if you can swing it << _

_ I promise not to let you distract me on the ice << _

_ >> I’ll hold you to that _

Chris is buzzing with anticipation by the time their plane touches down in Moscow. He turns his phone on to find a very scandalous picture of Viktor in his hotel room with the caption  _ Waiting for you, _ and has to hide his blush from Josef.

He must not do a very good job, because in the cab to the hotel, Josef leans towards him and says, “I hear Viktor Nikiforov has tagged along to watch this event.”

Chris schools his face into what he hopes is a neutral expression and says, “Scoping out the competition, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” Josef says. They ride in silence for another minute, and then Josef sighs and says, “Please be careful, Chris.” Chris looks at him; his face is solemn but caring. “I’ve seen affairs between rivals go south so many, many times.”

Chris swallows hard and shakes his head. “It’s not like that with me and Viktor. We’re not having an affair. We’re just friends who...” He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. “My heart’s not in any danger, Josef,” he decides on instead. “I promise it’s fine.”

“Okay, lad,” Josef says, patting him on the knee. “I trust you, and it’s not my job to judge you. I just worry.”

“I appreciate it,” Chris says honestly, earning himself a kindly smile from his coach.

Viktor pounces on him as soon as Chris showers and presents himself at his room, pinning him to the door by the mouth and hips.

“You did miss me,” Chris says, amused, as Viktor breaks away to lick his way down his neck.

“Yakov barely let me have an off season,” Viktor growls. “I spent my summer in an ice rink, with no one to touch me but my own hand.”

“I’ll fix that,” Chris promises, tangling one hand into Viktor’s long hair and pressing the other against the bulge between his legs, making Viktor grunt. “Did you practice like we talked about?”

“I’ve been opening myself for four days,” Viktor says, taking a step back toward the bed and towing Chris by the shirt after him. “Three fingers, pretending they were yours, Chris,  _ please _ fuck me.” Chris pushes him back until he falls on the bed, lowering himself after him to catch his mouth in a deep kiss that Viktor returns with vigor.

Viktor hisses as Chris presses into him, fingernails digging into Chris’ shoulders, his legs cocked wide around Chris’ hips. “It’s so much better when it’s someone else,” he breathes as Chris seats himself fully. “Fuck me, Chris, go on, I can take it.”

Chris does, fucking him slow at first but egged on by Viktor to a punishing pace. Viktor bites his lip hard against his cries as he comes into his own fist, and the sight of the orgasmic flush on his neck and chest sends Chris tumbling after.

“My coach knows about us,” Chris says as he dresses some time later. Viktor is sprawled across the bed, one fold of the sheet demurely covering his cock, and Chris keeps getting distracted by the need to touch him.

“Mmm,” Viktor hums, considering this. “He’s discreet?”

“I trust him,” Chris says. “He’s known about me for years.” He pulls his shirt on and laughs a little. “I think he’s worried you’ll break my heart.”

“Is there a chance of that?” Viktor says sharply. “If there is, we should stop now.”

Chris shakes his head. “No offense, but no, I’m not in love with you, or in danger of it.”

“Good,” Viktor says. “I’m not a good person to love.” Chris chooses not to engage with that, instead digging his sock out from where it had gotten thrown under the bed. “Yakov suspects there’s someone,” Viktor goes on, poking Chris’ hip with his toes. “I don’t know if he suspects it’s you, but if we carry on, he probably will.”

“As long as you’re not concerned, I’m not concerned,” Chris says, tugging his shoes on.

“I’m not concerned,” Viktor confirms. “I’m Yakov’s prize student, he’s not going to out me.”

“Doesn’t mean he won’t out  _ me,” _ Chris points out.

Viktor shrugs. “If he outs you, I’ll just come out anyway. It’s the perfect leverage.”

“Sweet of you.” Chris leans in and kisses him. Viktor turns it a little nasty, licking into his mouth with a proprietary tongue, and Chris is grinning by the time they break apart. “I’m not sure how much time I’ll have for the rest of the competition, but I’m glad you came.”

“If you medal, I’ll blow you,” Viktor says, smirking. Chris rolls his eyes and leaves.

He does medal, a shiny bronze, and Viktor corners him in the rink bathrooms after the gala with a condom. “See you in New York,” he says, still on his knees in the bathroom stall, lips grinning and red. Chris carries the image with him on the long flight back to Bern.

_ Nadja _

_ >> _ [ _ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aromanticism _ ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aromanticism)

_ >> Sorry for the English article _

_ >> But: It me _

_ Oh! << _

_ Thank you for sharing this with me << _

_ >> You sound like an after-school special (I love you) _

_ >> Any questions? _

_ Does it suck having to do the big romantic skates all the time? << _

_ >> Sometimes, but mostly no. It’s just a performance _

_ >> If people are going to assume things about me, I might as well make them give me medals for it _

_ Good attitude to have << _

_ Does Mat know? << _

_ >> He was the first person I told _

_ >> No offense _

_ None taken << _

_ I’m just honored to be on the list at all << _

_ >> eyerolling.gif _

_ >> (Seriously. Love you.) _

_ Love you too, girl << _

New York is big and bright and loud and Chris  _ loves _ it. Instead of having sex, he drags Viktor out sightseeing their first night there, and comes back loaded down with souvenir tat, as Viktor calls it. “Just because you have no joy in your heart,” Chris sniffs. Viktor rolls his eyes but buys a t-shirt from a street vendor.

Competition is stiff at Skate America this year, and Chris knows he’ll have a fight to make it to the podium, let alone the Final. His short program goes well enough; he lands all his quads and the judges overscore him a little on PCS, leaving him in fourth place going into the free.

Viktor, though, delivers a technical masterpiece of a short program, catapulting him to second place behind Lysacek and creating a situation in Chris’ trousers that he has to cover with his jacket. He sends Viktor a summons by text there and then, and receives a confirmation a few hours later.

When Viktor arrives at his hotel room, Chris is shirtless, and on the bed he’s laid out lube, a dental dam, and one of his little black latex gloves. He kisses Viktor so hard Viktor melts a little against him, then pulls back and says, “Naked, on your stomach.” Viktor raises an eyebrow but obeys.

Chris strips himself down to his briefs and lays himself fully on top of Viktor for a moment, teeth scraping at the back of his neck. When he feels Viktor shudder under him, he starts kissing a path down his spine, hands tight on Viktor’s hips until he reaches the swell of his ass, at which point he reaches for the dental dam.

Viktor swears loudly when Chris first licks against him, his shoulders coming up to send his back into a gorgeous arch.  _ “Fuck, _ Chris, do that again,” he orders, and Chris obeys, letting his eyes fall shut as he feasts, one of his hands down his own briefs to palm and tug at himself.

When Chris has eaten his fill, he pulls the dam away and puts on the latex glove, coating his fingers in lube. Viktor takes the first easily, with a drawn-out groan that goes straight to Chris’ balls. Chris enters him with a second and searches around for that spot he’d discovered in Moscow; he knows he’s found it when Viktor jolts and curses again.

“Touch yourself,” he commands. Viktor rocks up onto his knees, one hand disappearing from Chris’ view between his legs as Chris fingers him, teeth digging into the meat of Viktor’s ass until he comes with a shout, collapsing back onto the bed.

Viktor knocks the lube aside and rolls over, gasping for breath. He puts a hand to his forehead and Chris stands, pulling his briefs off and climbing onto the bed to straddle Viktor’s waist. He sinks down until his ass is against Viktor’s spent cock, and Viktor puts his hands on Chris’ hips. Chris jerks himself off roughly, grunting and groaning until he spills all over Viktor’s chest, come glistening in the valley between his sculpted pecs.

“Well,” Viktor says, running his palm up Chris’ chest as he catches his breath. “Out of curiosity, what was it that did it for you?”

“The triple Lutz-loop-triple Sal,” Chris admits, trailing his finger through the mess on Viktor’s chest.

Viktor smirks. “I’ll have to put that combination in more programs, then.”

“Only if you want me to die,” Chris says. He clambers off Viktor and the man sits up, making for the bathroom to wash himself off.

Chris puts his all into his free skate, and it’s enough to scrape him a bronze medal, but not enough to get him into the Final, unfortunately. Viktor pouts at him from his spot on the silver step of the podium, and Chris shrugs back, trying not to betray his disappointment. “There’s always next year,” he says to Josef, trying to convince himself as much as his coach.

Josef pats him on the shoulder. “You’ll have plenty of Grand Prix Finals, Chris,” he says. “I have faith.”

_ Mat, Nadja _

_ >> N: Congrats on the bronze!!! _

_ Thanks! << _

_ And you guys on the gold + silver << _

_ >> N: Thanks babe _

_ >> N: Shame we won’t see you at the Final, though _

_ >> N: You were robbed in Moscow _

_ It is what it is << _

_ I’ll be watching you guys!!! << _

_ And we’ll have Nationals << _

_ >> N: Yes! Nationals! _

_ >> N: Another gold for all of us _

_ Not me << _

_ Stephane’s back, like I said he would be << _

_ But I’ll happily take a silver << _

_ Dinner beforehand like usual? << _

_ >> N: I can’t, I’m being interviewed _

_ Oho, big shot << _

_ >> M: I’ll have dinner with you, Chris _

_ >> M: Consolation dinner for those of us not big deals enough to be interviewed _

_ >> N: If you want to take this interview on women in skating off my hands, be my guest _

_ Pass << _

_ I don’t think they’d appreciate my perspective << _

_ >> N: Haha _

_ >> M: So that’s a yes to dinner with me? _

_ Of course << _

_ >> M: Good _

_ >. M: Looking forward to it _

_ Me too << _


	12. eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The train ride to Lugano is hellishly complex, for all it’s only three and a half hours, and Chris is deeply grateful he has no homework to do this year. He and his rinkmates arrive at the competition hotel rumpled and irritated, a prickling under his skin that only leaches away under hot water and the notion that he’s going to spend the entire evening with Mat.
> 
> Back in Bern, he’d packed his best button-down shirt and slacks, all the while telling himself that he wouldn’t wear them, that it was just Mat. Giving in to the inevitable in Lugano, he slips into them, fluffing his hair up with the blow-dryer he’d packed in his suitcase, cursing himself for a fool.

The train ride to Lugano is hellishly complex, for all it’s only three and a half hours, and Chris is deeply grateful he has no homework to do this year. He and his rinkmates arrive at the competition hotel rumpled and irritated, a prickling under his skin that only leaches away under hot water and the notion that he’s going to spend the entire evening with Mat.

Back in Bern, he’d packed his best button-down shirt and slacks, all the while telling himself that he wouldn’t wear them, that it was just Mat. Giving in to the inevitable in Lugano, he slips into them, fluffing his hair up with the blow-dryer he’d packed in his suitcase, cursing himself for a fool.

Mat meets him in the hotel lobby. Chris notes with no small amount of glee that he isn’t the only one who’s dressed up tonight; Mat is in a slim black shirt with crisply-pressed trousers, and his hair looks as freshly-washed as Chris’ is. He stands when Chris approaches. “Hi,” he says, tucking his hands in his back pockets. “What’re you hungry for?”

“Well, we’re in Ticino,” Chris says. “Polenta?”

The polenta is easily found, and they settle into the small restaurant and tuck in. “How have you been?” Chris asks over their food. “I haven’t seen much of you this year.”

Mat winces. “My fault, I know. I’ve been busy.”

“So have I,” Chris says, thinking of Luca. “It’s not all your fault.”

Mat smiles at him. “I’ve been okay,” he says. “Working hard with Nadja. I’ve been trying to figure out if I can swing taking some university classes around skating,” he adds, to Chris’ surprise.

“What would you go for?” Chris asks. “Biology?”

Mat nods. “I’m not sure I can manage it, but I’d like to try,” he says. “Maybe next year.” He looks at Chris. “Do you have any interest in university?”

Chris shrugs. “Maybe after I’m retired? It’s not a particularly pressing urge. It’d be nice, but it can wait.”

“Fair enough.”

They wander back to the hotel, pleasantly full, hands in their pockets. Their trek takes them past a liquor store. “Shall we indulge?” Mat asks, slowing down and tilting his head at it.

Such a suggestion is most unlike him. “Oh, go on, then,” Chris says, intrigued.

Mat winks. “Stay here.”

He emerges a few minutes later with a small bottle of red wine. “Acceptable?” he asks, passing it to Chris.

“Perfectly,” Chris says, examining the label. “My room?”

Mat agrees and they walk on. Chris calls down for two wine glasses and a bottle opener when they get to his room, and they toast each other. “What’s got you in the mood?” Chris asks, settling on the edge of his bed.

Mat drops down next to him. “Not so much in the mood as, why not? Nationals hasn’t been much of a challenge for me and Nadja for a couple of years now, so I might as well take it easy.”

“And it’s not as though I’ve got a chance at gold no matter what I do,” Chris says. “Cheers.” He taps his glass against Mat’s and drinks.

Mat just looks at him, one eyebrow raised. “I think you’d be surprised what you can manage if you set your mind to it, Christophe,” he says, an amused tilt to his mouth.

Chris kisses him. The wine and the meal and the closeness of the room collaborate to drive him a little crazy, and he leans forward and kisses Mat, and the important thing, the thing he will cling to in the days to come, is that Mat kisses back. His breath hitches a little bit in surprise, but his lips push back against Chris’, and Chris feels the weight of his hand come to settle on Chris’ knee.

The kiss ends, and rather than push further, Chris leans back. Mat’s eyes are closed, and when he opens them there’s that fear again, the one Chris saw in the elevator in January. “I’m sorry,” Chris breathes. “Mat, I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be,” Mat says. His hand on Chris’ knee gives a little squeeze. Reassurance? “Don’t be sorry, Chris.” He isn’t meeting Chris’ eyes.

“Okay,” Chris says, and they sit there in silence for a few moments.

“I should go,” Mat finally says. He removes his hand from Chris’ leg, only to put it on his shoulder. “I have to go. Don’t be sorry,” he repeats, and then he stands and leaves. Chris hears the door shut behind him and falls back on the bed with a groan, covering his face with his hands. His lips are still tingling from where they were pressed against Mat’s.

“What’s wrong?” Josef asks immediately upon seeing Chris’ face the next day for the short program.

“Nothing,” Chris says.

“Your head’s not in this,” Josef says, “I can tell. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Chris shakes his head. “It’s fine, Josef.” He can’t bring himself to lie to his coach, but he says again, “It’ll be fine. I’m focused, I promise.”

“Okay,” Josef says doubtfully. His hug before he sends Chris off to center ice is tight, and it does wonders to settle Chris’ quivering stomach.

Nadja tracks him down afterwards, dragging him into a quiet corner of the rink. “Something’s happened,” she says. “Mat was weird all day, and I can tell something’s on your mind too. Did something happen last night?”

Chris bites his lip. It’s not outing Mat if he doesn’t say that Mat kissed back, right? “I kissed him,” he confesses, driven by the desperate urge to tell _someone._

Her eyes turn stony. “Is he being an asshole to you about it? I’ll kill him, I swear—”

“No,” Chris says quickly, putting his hands on her shoulders. “He’s not being an asshole, I promise. It’s not that. It’s just... awkward, you know?”

“No,” she says. “I don’t.”

“Right.” Chris winces. “Sorry.”

She softens. “It’s alright. Awkward is okay, though; awkward is survivable. If he starts being an asshole to you, though, tell me, and I’ll sort him, alright?” He nods and she hugs him. “Get your head in the game,” she says, patting him on the cheek. “I want you to give Stephane a run for his money.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says, and she laughs.

He manages to pull himself together enough to clinch silver for himself, a respectable ten points behind Stephane. “Good job,” the man says to him on the podium as the cameras flash.

“You just had to come back, didn’t you?” Chris gripes.

Stephane laughs. “Sorry. Olympics, you know?”

Chris has been trying not to think about the Olympics, but they’re close enough that the thoughts can’t be put off any more after Nationals. He’s named to the national team, along with Elena and Lea for ladies’, and Mat and Nadja. Chris gets a little nauseous every time he thinks about it.

Before the Olympics, though, he still has the Europeans to get through. Mat is definitely avoiding him this time, and Chris doesn’t even try to set something up with him and Nadja like they usually do, instead throwing himself into the public morning practice and thoughts of meeting Viktor later to work out some of his tension.

He’s not the only one hard at work during practice; he catches sight of Viktor out of the corner of his eye a handful of times, steadfastly running through his own skates. They’re nearing the end of practice when he’s jolted out of his reverie by the sound of a crash and a familiar voice crying out in pain.

Chris spins around, as does every skater on the ice, to see Viktor splayed out across it, clutching his leg and biting his lip against the pain. The medics are there in seconds, and all Chris can do is watch as they get him off the ice and out of sight.

Josef meets him with a frown. “Injuries happen,” he says. “I know Nikiforov is a friend, but don’t let it rattle you. He’s young; he’ll bounce back. Keep your head in the game.”

“Yes, Josef,” Chris says, trying not to think of the unnatural angle of Viktor’s foot.

The announcement that Viktor is withdrawing from competition due to injury comes a few hours later, and the competition starts on schedule the next day. Chris still hasn’t heard from Viktor, but he forces his worry down and skates his best, coming in fourth place after the day’s skates are over. Done with waiting, he pulls his phone out in his room that evening and texts Viktor.

_Viktor_

_How are you??? << _

_ >> Broken ankle. I’m out the rest of the season _

_ >> Including the Olympics _

_ >> I could kill myself _

_Don’t do that << _

_There’ll be other Olympics << _

_What have they said about your recovery? << _

_ >> Oh, full recovery, full range of motion back, as long as I stay off it long enough _

_ >> But too damn late to be any good _

_ >> I can’t even leave. They want me here for tests for a few days, so we’re keeping our original flights out _

_Come up to mine << _

_I’ll bet I can distract you << _

_ >> I can’t move my leg. Don’t tempt me _

_You don’t have to move your leg for me to ride you << _

_ >> I’ll be there in ten minutes _

Viktor is predictably grouchy when he arrives on his little scooter, lower leg encased in a thick cast. Chris lets him in without a word, and Viktor rolls over to the bed. “You’ll have to help me get my kit off,” he says, hopping off the scooter and sitting on the mattress.

“Fine,” Chris says, pulling his shirt off and getting to work on his trouser fly.

Viktor pulls his own shirt off and tosses it aside, eyeing Chris. “I thought I would be the one in the worse mood here,” he says, “but you look more pissed off than me, and I didn’t think that was possible.”

Chris sighs, kicking his briefs away and sitting carefully on the bed so as not to jostle Viktor’s leg. “At myself. I didn’t offer just for your sake,” he says, smiling ruefully at Viktor.

“Good,” Viktor says. “I don’t want your pity sex. What’d you do?”

“Kissed someone I shouldn’t’ve,” Chris says. “Ruined a good friendship.”

Viktor frowns at him, then reaches out and pushes a hand into Chris’ hair. “Take it out on me, then,” he says, a hint of a challenge in his voice, and Chris kisses him, the tension leaving his body in a rush as Viktor licks into his mouth and tugs at his hair.

Together they get Viktor out of his trousers and underwear and on his back on the bed. Chris opens himself up a little more roughly than he usually does; he’s in a hurry, and the burn scratches the itch under his skin. Viktor strokes himself while Chris works at his hole, rolling a condom on when Chris passes it to him. Once he’s stretched enough, Chris straddles Viktor’s hips, takes hold of his cock, and sinks down onto it.

“Oh, Christ, I needed this,” he says in a relieved rush, bottoming out. “It’s been a hellish month and a half.”

“Happy to— _fuck—_ happy to oblige,” Viktor bites out as Chris starts to rock on top of him. “Couldn’t find somebody else in the meantime? That’s surprising.”

“No time,” Chris says. “Josef’s been cracking the whip about the Olympics.”

“Don’t fucking remind me,” Viktor grinds out, and Chris laughs.

“Sorry,” he says, leaning down to put his back into the way he’s fucking himself on Viktor’s cock. “Don’t _thrust,”_ he says a minute later, putting his hand on Viktor’s hip to hold him down. “You’re not meant to be moving your leg.”

“Nag nag nag,” Viktor says, but he stills. “Can I at least touch you?”

“Yeah,” Chris says, leaning up a bit. “Yeah, Viktor, touch me.”

With Viktor’s hand tugging at his cock, it’s not long at all before Chris is able to eke out an orgasm, shuddering and spilling over Viktor’s chest. He slips Viktor out of him and settles beside him, jerking him off through the condom while Viktor sucks on his tongue. Viktor bites him when he comes. “Sorry,” he hisses, panting.

“It’s okay,” Chris says, licking at the painful spot. He drops down onto his back next to Viktor, listening to him catch his breath.

“For the record,” Viktor says after a while, flipping his hand up to land on Chris’ chest. “That person you kissed is an idiot. It’s hard to imagine the sort of person who wouldn’t love you.”

“You don’t love me,” Chris points out.

Viktor waves this aside. “I can’t love anyone,” he says dismissively. “I traded the ability for skating.”

Chris considers this. “Do you know,” he says, “right now I almost envy you that trade.”

“If I could, I think it would probably be you,” Viktor says. “I don’t know if that makes you feel any better.”

“It does, a little.”

Eventually they get up and wrangle Viktor back into his clothes. “There’s a word for it,” Chris says, tugging his sweatpants over his cast and up his legs.

“For what?”

“For people who don’t love others romantically. It’s called being aromantic. You should look it up, or I can put you in touch with a friend of mine.” Chris helps Viktor back onto his scooter.

“I don’t need to talk to anyone about it,” Viktor says. “I’m fine.”

“If you say so.”

Viktor’s almost at the door when he stops. “If you have any links,” he says over his shoulder, almost haltingly. “That would be good.”

“I’ll find some,” Chris promises.

“Thank you. Now help me with the door.”

Chris holds the door open for Viktor to roll through, then lets it fall shut and pulls out his phone to text Nadja for some online literature.


	13. twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m gonna have to spend this whole thing drunk, aren’t I?” Chris murmurs to Nadja on the plane to Canada, desperately not looking back at where Mat has traded seats with a luger, presumably to get away from Chris.
> 
> “Not if you’d let me murder him with one of my skates,” Nadja murmurs back, sipping the first class complimentary champagne. “He’s being such an asshole.”
> 
> “Then you’d be out a partner, and I’d never see you at a competition again,” Chris says reasonably. “No, best to drink.”
> 
> She pats his hand. “You just need to find yourself a Village boyfriend,” she says. “Someone to take your mind off things.”

“I’m gonna have to spend this whole thing drunk, aren’t I?” Chris murmurs to Nadja on the plane to Canada, desperately not looking back at where Mat has traded seats with a luger, presumably to get away from Chris.

“Not if you’d let me murder him with one of my skates,” Nadja murmurs back, sipping the first class complimentary champagne. “He’s being such an asshole.”

“Then you’d be out a partner, and I’d never see you at a competition again,” Chris says reasonably. “No, best to drink.”

She pats his hand. “You just need to find yourself a Village boyfriend,” she says. “Someone to take your mind off things.”

“Mmm, say more,” Chris purrs. He can’t say that he would have had one lined up, save for a broken ankle.  _ Poor Viktor, _ he thinks, and makes a resolution to text him everything he misses.

“I’m serious,” she insists. “Some big jock with biceps the size of your head.”

“This is the Winter Olympics, darling,” he points out. “More likely to be his leg muscles that are huge.”

“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously,” she sniffs. He laughs.

Chris gives her words a little more weight when they actually make it to the Village and he gets a good look at some of the bodies on display there. There’s one man in particular who gives Chris the once-over in return when they go for a drink, bold and unashamed. Just Chris’ type. Chris tips him a wink and turns back to what Nadja’s been saying.

He sees the man again in the crush after the opening ceremonies, and Chris is aware enough through the haze of excitement to take note of which delegation he’s with. Armenia; Chris will have to remember that.

There’s a huge party in the Village after the openers, and Chris isn’t surprised at all when the body that appears at his side through the crowd at the bar belongs to the mystery Armenian. “Let me get you a drink,” the man yells in Chris’ ear.

“Just a soda,” Chris calls back. “Trying to keep a clear head tonight.” The man nods, a gleam in his eye, and flags one of the bartenders over.

Chris catches Nadja’s eye and points at the man; she toasts him, a clear approval, and he and the Armenian fight their way to a quiet corner. “What’s your name?” Chris asks, once they’re settled in chairs by a fake fire pit.

“Vahe,” he says. “Snowboarder.”

“I’m Chris,” Chris says, but before he can go on, the man holds a hand up.

“Let me guess,” he says. “Figure skater?”

“How’d you tell?” Chris asks, laughing.

“Powerful thighs, not enough bulk for ice hockey, plus you move like a dancer,” Vahe says. “Graceful.”

Chris crosses one leg over the other. “I’m glad my thighs pass muster.” Vahe laughs. He has a good laugh, loud and resonant.

They talk for another hour, bantering and flirting, long past when their glasses are empty, before Vahe leans in and says, “Forgive me for shooting my shot, but do you want to get out of here?”

“Shot landed,” Chris says. “Let’s go.”

Vahe’s lodgings aren’t far from where the party is, and they race there through the biting Canadian air. There’s a bowl of Olympics-branded condoms in the lobby of his building. Chris raises an eyebrow at Vahe and, at his nod, loads his pockets up.

“Can I kiss you?” Vahe asks as soon as the door is shut behind them. “I’ve been dying to ever since I saw you yesterday.” Chris nods, eager as a boy, and Vahe gets his big hands on Chris’ face and pulls him in.

He’s a good kisser, quite possibly the best Chris has ever kissed. He’s bold but not pushy, leaving Chris enough room to give as good as he gets, and his arms wrap Chris up tight and warm, their bodies pressing together in a way that makes Chris gasp. He’s also taller than Chris, by quite a bit, and Chris lets his head tip back in delight as he’s devoured.

Vahe asks for permission before every article of clothing he takes off Chris’ body, until Chris is moaning his assent every time he opens his mouth. Chris gets Vahe down to his boxers in turn, and when he gets consent and works them over Vahe’s hips, he looks down and his jaw drops open.

Vahe laughs, almost a giggle. “Your eyes just dilated like a cat’s.”

“Holy  _ hell,” _ Chris breathes. “Are you kidding me?”

“I get that a lot,” Vahe says. “I understand if you don’t want to, uh,  _ receive. _ Most people don’t.”

“Oh no,” Chris says immediately, shaking his head. “That is going inside me. We may have to work up to it, but I am sitting on that.”

Vahe kisses him, sharp and sweet. “Call me an optimist, but I came prepared.”

“Prepared?” Chris asks, a little breathless from the kiss. “What does that mean?”

Apologetically, Vahe steps back from Chris, walking over to his suitcase. He pulls out a small case from inside and unzips it, showing its contents to Chris: three dildos, increasing in size and girth, the biggest just barely smaller than what Vahe has between his legs.

Chris blinks. “Remind me where you’re from again?”

“Armenia,” Vahe says.

“Heaven?” Chris asks. Vahe laughs one of his good laughs again. “Get over here,” Chris says, pointing to the bed. “We have work to do.”

_ Viktor _

_ [img] << _

_ Wish you were here << _

_ >> Shut up _

_ >> That’s a prosthetic _

_ Nope << _

_ As I have spent the last four days discovering, thrillingly real << _

_ >> Ugh _

_ >> I’m furious with you _

_ >> Never speak to me again _

_ The Olympics is great so far << _

_ As an adult and not a seventeen-year-old wunderkind << _

_ >> How dare you _

_ Gotta go << _

_ I promised to suck it in exchange for the picture << _

_ >> I hope you choke on it _

_ :-* << _

Chris introduces Vahe to Nadja; they get on like a house on fire. He drags her to the snowboarding events they can fit around their practice schedules, and he’s there when Vahe wins the gold. In exchange, Vahe is there when Switzerland cinches the team bronze in figure skating, and the congratulatory fingering Chris gets is  _ delightful. _

He can’t help but see Mat during the team events, because he’ll die before he’s not there for Nadja. For the most part Mat avoids his eyes, but after they come out of their team free dance, he catches Chris’ gaze and gives him an awkward, but seemingly heartfelt, smile. Chris returns it, a little hopeful for the first time that maybe their friendship can survive one kiss, once Mat’s over his gay panic.

Chris takes Vahe’s cock on the sixth day after the opening ceremonies, when he has minimal skate time the next day and they’ve had time to put all three of Vahe’s dildos to good use. “Ohhhhhhh,” he breathes into Vahe’s forehead, clutching at his shoulders like he’s dying. “Oh, you’ll ruin me for all other cocks.”

Vahe kisses his chest and holds still, like a good horse-hung man, as Chris starts to work himself back and forth.  _ “Fuck,” _ Chris bites out. To distract himself, he asks, “How long has it been since you’ve topped?”

“About two years,” Vahe says, leaning forward to kiss Chris’ neck. “I had a good feeling about this Olympics, though.”

“Lucky me,” Chris says wickedly.

He prides himself on the fact that he gets Vahe to come inside him before letting himself give in. It’s by far the most mind-bending orgasm he’s ever had with a partner, the thickness of Vahe’s cock inside him as he clenches around it so solid and  _ big _ that Chris almost passes out. He comes to cradled in Vahe’s arms, tucked against his chest, and sighs happily.

Viktor texts him the night before the individual skates begin, a simple  _ Stay focused _ that settles Chris more than Josef’s pep talk. Vahe kisses him firmly in a dark corner, promising to be in the stands for both programs; they’ve agreed no sex in between the short and free, to keep Chris sharp.

“Are you ready?” Josef asks him, rinkside. Chris nods. “Then there’s nothing more to say,” he says, pulling him in for a hug. “Go on.”

Chris goes, and he does really, shockingly well. He’s in fifth place after the short program,  _ somehow, _ and Nadja jumps on him as soon as he’s out of the kiss and cry. “You’re amazing!” she shouts in his ear, and he grins and squeezes her tight.

She and Mat are in third place after their compulsory and short dances. Between time with her and time with Vahe and practice, Chris barely has a moment to think before the day of the free skate dawns.

To his surprise, Stephane finds him in the warm-up area as he’s stretching. “I just wanted to say good luck,” he says, holding out a hand. Chris shakes it. “This is my last Olympics,” Stephane says, “but I’m glad I’ll be leaving Switzerland in such capable hands.”

“Thank you,” Chris says, stunned. “I don’t know what to say.” Stephane claps him on the shoulder, smiles, and turns to his own warm-ups.

He pulls out a fifth-place finish, pushing himself on the ice until he has to fall to his knees and gasp with exertion once he drops his final pose. It’s not a medal, but it’s enough to satisfy him. Josef beams when his scores are announced, thumping him on the back, and Chris grins, exhausted but pleased.

Viktor texts him that night.

_ Viktor _

_ >> Congratulations _

_ Thanks! << _

_ Not a medal but I’ll take it << _

_ >> 2014 is going to be a completely different animal _

_ >> You’ll medal for sure _

_ Don’t jinx me << _

_ >> I’m serious _

_ >> Lysacek, Plushenko, Lambiel... They’ll all be gone _

_ >> Retired _

_ >> It’ll just be us, at the top of the sport, better than even they were _

_ You make it sound so certain << _

_ >> I am certain _

_ >> I’m coming back stronger next season _

_ >> I already have plans _

_ Of course you do << _

_ Don’t push yourself too hard too soon << _

_ >> I know my limits, Chris _

_ >> You don’t have to worry about me _

_ >> I’ll be there next season _

_ I wasn’t worried << _

_ >> Good _

Their events done, Chris, Vahe, and Nadja catch as many of the other events as they can fit into their schedules. “I’m in the wrong sport,” Chris says, breathless after a neck-and-neck speed skating race that Sven Kramer just barely pulls out, with an Olympic record to his name. “Tell Josef I’m switching to speed skating.”

“Don’t you dare,” Nadja says, laughing. Chris kisses her on the temple and resumes cheering loudly for the medalists.

Chris abandons his lodgings and spends all his nights with Vahe. They don’t fuck every night, not by a long shot, but it’s unspeakably nice to fall asleep wrapped in his arms, his breath on Chris’ forehead or the back of his neck. Josef lets him be, busy wining and dining sponsors on his behalf in the wake of his fifth-place finish.

“I’ll miss you,” Chris says on the last night, straddling Vahe in their bed. “You’ve made this Olympics an amazing time.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Vahe says, running his hands up and down Chris’ thighs. “But we’ll keep in touch. I don’t intend to lose you as a friend just because we can’t be lovers once we leave.”

Chris leans down to kiss him and lets Vahe roll him over, and they make love one last time, Chris shuddering his orgasm into Vahe’s hand before taking him into his mouth. He sleeps on his side, Vahe’s arm thrown over his waist, and when Chris leaves his room to meet Josef and the rest of Team Switzerland for their flight, it’s with the taste of Vahe’s mouth still on his lips.

“Well?” Josef asks in the airport as they wait for boarding. “How was your first Olympics?”

“Incredible,” Chris says. “I want to do it again.”

“You will,” Josef tells him, patting him on the shoulder. “Four years and you’ll be back. We’ll make sure you medal next time.”

“I can’t wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: I know there was no team figure skating at the 2010s. Shhhhhh. I wanted Chris to have a medal.


	14. thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris hangs his Olympics bronze on his medals wall and dives deep into training for Worlds. “You can’t let up just because the Olympics are over,” Josef tells him countless times. “End the season on that same high.”
> 
> “Yes, Josef,” Chris replies every time, his legs aching from Lutz after loop after Salchow.
> 
> Worlds is in Italy this year, and Nadja sends him no less than seven swimsuits for his approval before finally settling on one. He doubts he’ll have time for swimming between all the ice time, but maybe the hotel has a pool. He winds up with two new pairs himself.

Chris hangs his Olympics bronze on his medals wall and dives deep into training for Worlds. “You can’t let up just because the Olympics are over,” Josef tells him countless times. “End the season on that same high.”

“Yes, Josef,” Chris replies every time, his legs aching from Lutz after loop after Salchow.

Worlds is in Italy this year, and Nadja sends him no less than seven swimsuits for his approval before finally settling on one. He doubts he’ll have time for swimming between all the ice time, but maybe the hotel has a pool. He winds up with two new pairs himself.

Turin is close enough to Bern that they take the train rather than fly. “Feels like we’re going to Nationals,” he murmurs to Josef beside him.

“Watch that mindset,” is all his coach says. “This is a much harder competition than Nationals.” Chris sighs and balls up his jacket to try and catch some sleep.

Viktor texts him incessantly throughout the day of the short programs, and even more once the skating is done and Chris is in a comfortable fourth. Chris answers when he can, but there’s only so many formulations of  _ Yes, I am focused _ he can come up with. And besides that, Nadja is at his side constantly when neither of them are on the ice.

“Rumor has it they’re axing the compulsory  _ and _ the original for next season,” she says to him over dinner the night after the men’s short. Mat is, of course, nowhere to be seen, but in fairness, Chris isn’t sure Nadja invited him in the first place. “What they’re going to replace it with I have no idea, of course, because why should we be given enough time to prepare?”

Chris makes soothing noises and redirects conversation to Nadja’s heroes, Tessa and Scott. “The rumors  _ I _ hear are that they’re trying for a world record tomorrow,” he says, and she’s off again, this time with light in her eyes.

He really should be training during the original dance, since it’s only a few hours before his own free skate, but he manages to slip away from Josef to watch the group that has both his friends and Tessa and Scott. The latter do set a world record, pure artistry in motion, but Mat and Nadja pull out a clean second-place finish, settling them nicely going into their free the next day. Chris stays long enough to hug Nadja and wave awkwardly at Mat, who lights up when he sees Chris, before he has to go back or be murdered by Josef.

“You have to stop doing that,” Josef tells him crossly when Chris finds him again. “Your performance comes first.”

“I wasn’t going to miss a chance to watch a world record being set,” Chris says. “It inspires me.” Josef rolls his eyes but holds his tongue and Chris sets himself to running through his footwork in the hallway.

To his surprise, he sees Mat and Nadja waving to him from the stands when he takes the ice, waving Swiss flags at him. He laughs, hugs Josef, and goes and nets himself a small silver and his first Worlds medal, another bronze to go with his Olympics one.

“Proud of you,” Josef says, thumping him on the back in the kiss and cry. “Next time, higher on the podium.”

“Yes, Coach,” Chris says just to be contrary, and Josef laughs.

There are rounds and rounds of interviews after the medals ceremony, countless soundbites for various media outlets. He’s taking a moment to himself in the rink bathroom afterward, washing his face and enjoying the silence, when he hears the door open and then the lock click shut.

Mat’s standing there when he turns around. “There you are,” he says, smiling when Chris meets his gaze. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He takes a step closer. “I wasn’t sure Nadja was going to let me near you,” he goes on. His eyes are flickering all over Chris’ face like he can’t decide where to look.

“She’s very protective of me,” Chris says, “and you’ve been kind of an asshole lately.”

Mat winces. “I know. And I’m sorry, really I am. You deserved better than that.” He takes another step closer. “I wanted to say congratulations on your medal.”

“And to you for yours,” Chris says, just to be polite, but congratulating him doesn’t require locking the door and he knows it, and Mat knows he knows it, and he takes another step closer.

“I also wanted to do this,” Mat says, and he raises one hand and cups it around Chris’ jaw. He leans in, hovering a heartbeat away for permission, and when Chris lets his eyes fall shut Mat closes the gap and kisses him.

It’s a soft kiss, gentle to start, but when Chris inhales a sharp breath Mat kisses him again, deeper, his other hand settling on Chris’ hip. Chris balls his fists into Mat’s shirt and chases after him, his knees going a little weak. Mat grins against his lips and gets both their mouths open, making a little sound of pleasure at the first touch of Chris’ tongue that goes straight to Chris’ heart.

They make out for some length of time that Chris can’t  _ possibly _ be expected to keep track of, and Mat’s lips are bitten and red when they finally pull apart. “I’m not in a position to offer you anything serious,” he says quietly, brushing Chris’ cheek with his thumb. “For a long time I thought that meant I couldn’t offer you anything at all. But I figured out eventually that I should probably leave that choice up to you. I like you a lot, and you seem to like me, and it seems a shame to waste that, if you’re willing.”

Chris bites his lip, considering it for a long moment. It’s not what he wants—or rather, it’s not  _ all _ of what he wants. But it’s Mat’s hands on his face and his waist, Mat’s mouth on his, Mat’s time spent with him again. And it’s probably a good idea not to get too serious too soon while they’re both still closeted. So, after a minute of thought, he says, “Alright. Let’s try casual, then. We’ll see how it goes.”

“You’re comfortable with that?” Mat asks, his eyes searching.

Chris nods. “Yes. Exclusive or non-exclusive?”

A flicker of a frown crosses Mat’s face. “Non, I would say.”

“And  _ you’re _ comfortable with that?” Chris probes.

“I am,” Mat says. “Exclusivity implies a lot of things. Like you said, we’re trying this casually.”

“Alright,” Chris says. He’s smiling, a little giddy, and Mat’s brown eyes are molten. He tips his forehead against Mat’s, and Mat pulls his chin up to kiss him again.

“We should probably leave separately,” Mat says after a few more minutes of breathing against each other.

“I know the drill,” Chris says with a smile. “You go. I’ll take five minutes to make myself look less kissed and then I’ll be out. And I’ll tell Nadja we’ve made up so she gets off your back. I take it you’re not out to her?” he adds.

Mat shakes his head. “I know it’s not fair to ask you to keep secrets from her,” he starts, but Chris holds up a hand.

“First rule is, I don’t out people. We’ll keep it between us.”

“Alright,” Mat says. “Thank you.” Another kiss, a lingering touch at Chris’ waist, and he’s gone, leaving Chris to splash cold water on his face and try to stop grinning.

Winter slips into spring, and Chris slips into his off-season training program, more familiar than some of his clothes at this point. As always, Josef keeps him busy, between conditioning, jump drills, and runs, but he and Mat make time to see each other every other week or so. Between their dates and his friend-dates with Nadja, some of which now include Mat again, Chris’ personal time is just as busy as his training schedule.

Most of the time, his dates with Mat are just long enough for a quick meal together, or a hurried makeout, but one day in June both their calendars are wide open from dawn till noon the next day. Chris packs a bag and heads to Mat’s just after breakfast, where he’s greeted with a deep kiss and a promising hand on his ass.

The kissing progresses to the couch, Chris stretched out under Mat where he can hook a leg around his hip and draw him closer. When Mat goes to take Chris’ shirt off, Chris notices that his hands are shaking.

He catches one and brings it to his mouth for a kiss, then puts his other hand on Mat’s cheek. “Hey,” he says, and Mat looks at him, nerves clearly written across his face. “Is this your first time?” Chris asks quietly. “I should have asked first.”

Mat shakes his head. “I did some experimenting, to confirm things. I know what I’m doing.”

“Then what is it?”

Mat sighs, his expression changing to a rueful smile. “It’s stupid.” Chris waits, and Mat butts his forehead up against Chris’ and says, “It’s just, it’s  _ you, _ you know?”

Chris has to kiss him for that. “Exactly,” he murmurs. “It’s just me.”

“Right,” Mat says, exhaling a shaky breath. “It’s just you and me.” When he goes back to the hem of Chris’ shirt, his hands are steadier.

Mat buries his face in Chris’ neck when he comes, every time his head is close enough for it to be feasible. He touches Chris like he’s made of gold, respectfully and gently—a little  _ too  _ gently; Chris has to carefully coax him into being a little rougher with him. The first time he yanks on Chris’ hair and calls him  _ Christophe _ in a sharp tone, Chris comes on the spot. Once they’re done laughing, Mat says he gets the picture, and from then on his hands are never long from Chris’ hair during sex, pulling or twisting or just carding through the strands.

Viktor gets the go-ahead to get back on the ice in late June, much to his relief. He calls Chris after his first week back in full-time training, voice flushed with victory. “I have big plans this season,” he says again. “Promise you’ll watch me if we’re not at the same Grand Prix events.”

“Of course I’ll watch you,” Chris says. “I watch everyone. Keeping an eye on the competition.”

“No,” Viktor says, “promise you’ll watch  _ me. _ It would be better if you were there in person, but I can’t guarantee that, so you have to promise.”

“I promise,” Chris says. “No chance you’ll tell me what you’re planning?”

“It’s a surprise,” Viktor tells him, and that’s all he’ll say, no matter how Chris presses him.

Josef asks for his input on choreography in mid-July, and all Chris wants do is push for more sensuality, more sex. Josef, to his surprise, goes for it, and they put together a short program that Chris knows he’ll have to tell his parents not to watch, or at least not to discuss with him. “It fits your mood this summer,” Nadja says drily when he tells her about it, which is how Chris discovers Mat accidentally left a mark high enough on his neck to be seen. She doesn’t ask who it is, though, just pats him on the shoulder and congratulates him on the sex.

Viktor must have multiple surprises planned, because the first one comes in early August, via text.

_ Viktor _

_ >> [img] _

_ Oh my god! << _

_ It’s so SHORT << _

_ I love it!!! << _

_ >> Do you? _

_ >> I was worried you’d miss pulling on it _

_ It’s still plenty long enough for me to get my fingers into, haha << _

_ But seriously, it looks great << _

_ So masc << _

_ Very grown-up << _

_ >> That’s what I was going for _

_ >> I want to redo my whole image with this comeback _

_ >> An entirely different skater _

_ I can’t wait << _

_ Are your programs done? << _

_ >> Still working out the specifics of my free _

_ >> I want to push as far as possible _

_ Leave some for the rest of us << _

Viktor posts a public picture of his haircut a few days later, styled a little differently, and the skating blogs go  _ wild. _ Chris compiles every thirsty comment and sends them to Viktor in a daily digest. Viktor thanks him after a week by talking him through a toe-curling orgasm as he details every suggestion from the comments he wants to do to Chris when they’re together again.

Lying in bed with Mat the week before the official press conference to start the season, sweat cooling off their skin and hands tangled together, Chris murmurs, “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

Mat kisses his hair and tightens his arm around his shoulders. “Me either,” he murmurs back. Chris props his chin on Mat’s stomach and looks up at him; he’s smiling, gorgeous in the post-orgasm flush Chris has come to relish so much.

“We’re gonna be great this season,” Chris says. “You and me and Nadja, we’ll be amazing, I can feel it.”

Mat taps him lightly on the nose. “You’re always amazing.” Chris rolls his eyes, blushing, and Mat grins and says, “But you’re right. This is going to be a very good season. I can’t wait to see what we come up with.”

His hand runs softly through Chris’ hair, the other stroking lightly over the skin of his upper back. Chris is hardening again at the touches, somehow, and from the look in Mat’s eye, he can tell. Chris presses a kiss to his side, and then to his nipple, and then to his collarbone, and then Mat is pulling him up into his lap to kiss his mouth as Chris straddles his waist. “A very good season,” Chris pauses to murmur, and then dives back in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLYYYYYYYYYYY


	15. fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor’s fifth in Group 2. He looks good as he takes the ice, Chris notes, new haircut and a costume designed to make him look like a hero. Just as ravishing as he had been with the long hair, but more masculine, more adult.
> 
> The music starts, and at first Chris can’t tell what Viktor’s big surprise is going to be. It’s Viktor, so it’s a stunning program, technically perfect, but that’s hardly surprising—and then Viktor goes into a jump entry that Chris can’t quite understand until Viktor’s flying through the air, and then...

The text comes in just before Group 2 of Skate Canada takes the ice for the short program.

_ Viktor _

_ >> Are you watching? _

_ I promised << _

_ This better be impressive << _

_ >> It will be _

Viktor’s fifth in Group 2. He looks  _ good _ as he takes the ice, Chris notes, new haircut and a costume designed to make him look like a hero. Just as ravishing as he had been with the long hair, but more masculine, more adult.

The music starts, and at first Chris can’t tell what Viktor’s big surprise is going to be. It’s Viktor, so it’s a stunning program, technically perfect, but that’s hardly surprising—and then Viktor goes into a jump entry that Chris can’t quite understand until Viktor’s flying through the air, and then...

A quad flip.

_ A quad flip. _ It’s never been done before. Daisuke Takahashi has tried it in competition, once, and fell so hard he almost had to stop his performance.

Chris is on the phone with Josef as soon as Viktor’s off the ice, even before his scores are read out. “I need it, Josef,” he says as soon as his coach picks up.

“You can’t,” Josef says baldly. “You need to focus on your programs as they exist currently, especially if you want a hope of beating that boy now that he’s got it in his arsenal. You need perfection, Chris; we don’t have time to train you on something new and still experimental.”

“I can’t beat him without it,” Chris counters.

He hears Josef start to say something, then stop and sigh. “Chris,” he says, his voice suddenly very serious. “I need you to be honest with me. If I say no, are you going to do it behind my back?”

“Probably,” Chris admits.

“Then fine. Bring me solid video footage of the jump, and we’ll dedicate the last half an hour of your practice times to trying to get it. But  _ no more. _ I need you focused on your programs as is. Deal?”

“Deal,” Chris says. “Thank you.” His phone is buzzing with another call. “I have to go, I have to take this.  _ Thank you, _ Josef.”

“Thank me by not breaking your leg,” Josef grumbles, but fondly. Chris hangs up on him and accepts the other call.

“Did you see?” Viktor’s voice is triumphant, exhilarated. “I did it.”

“I saw,” Chris says, grinning. “How are you on the phone right now? You should be in about a million interviews at once.”

“I wanted to talk to you first.” Chris can hear his grin.  _ “I did it, _ Chris.”

“You did.”

“You have to be at the Final,” Viktor says. “Promise me.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Fuck your best.  _ Promise me.” _

“Alright, alright,” Chris says. “I promise.” He’s pacing around his living room, Viktor’s excitement infectious. “I’m proud of you.”

“Yakov’s proud of me too,” Viktor says. “He’s frowning a lot but I can tell.”

“He should be,” Chris tells him. “Now get off the phone and do your interviews, history maker.”

“Yes sir,” Viktor drawls in a tone of voice that makes it  _ very _ clear what Chris has waiting for him at the Final.

He earns his place there by late November, a silver at China and a surprising gold in Russia clinching his spot. Mat and Nadja are going too, two golds under their belt; the mood in their get-together just after the Bompard is so triumphant that Chris winds up buying three rounds of shots for the three of them and blowing Mat’s back out in bed that night, both of them drunkenly giggling with glee and victory into their kisses as they catch their breath afterward.

By the time they land in Beijing for the Final, Chris is landing the quad flip about forty percent of the time, and is waging a quiet but persistent war with Josef to let him put it in his free skate. “We’ll see how things stand after the short,” Josef finally concedes the day before. Chris quietly fistpumps to himself and Josef rolls his eyes.

He’s uncharacteristically nervous during his warm-up before the short, twitchy and snappish. Josef puts him in a quiet corner, away from all the other skaters, and whispers a litany of reassurance and pep until Chris can open his water bottle without wanting to throw it against the wall.

“You have a solid short,” Josef tells him when they’re rinkside. “Do it perfectly and you’ll be in fine shape for the free.”

“Oh, that’s all?” Chris says sarcastically, before he can stop himself.

“You’ve done it perfectly countless times before,” Josef tells him, putting a hand on the back of his neck. “Just do it again.” They hug, and he gives Chris a little push out onto the ice proper.

He does it perfectly. The nervous, wired feeling running through his blood is  _ perfect _ for the sex appeal of his short program, and although his quad Sal is a little wobbly, it’s a clean landing, fully scored. At the end of the day, he’s in second place. Ahead of him is only Viktor, another clean quad flip in his short that had the crowd cheering.

Over dinner, Chris stares wide-eyed at Josef, unblinking until Josef snaps, “Alright. Land it twice cleanly in practice the day of, and I’ll let you try it.  _ Cleanly, _ mind you.”

“I love you, Josef,” Chris tells him. “I can win this.”

“I know you can,” Josef says.

The short dance had been before the men’s free, and after dinner he spends hours in Mat’s room with him and Nadja, dissecting all their competition. They’re in a precarious first, less than a point away from the team from France that had finished with the small silver. Their free is after his the next day. “I’ll be there, no matter what,” he promises.

“With a gold medal on,” Nadja says. Chris drops her a wink over the churning of his stomach.

He runs through his free skate once during morning practice, and then turns his attention to the real task. Without thinking about it too much, moving almost casually, he builds up speed, turns into his entrance, and pushes himself off the ice, spinning and landing without a wobble.

He turns to look at Josef, who nods approvingly and holds up one finger.

Viktor is looking at him as he starts building up speed again; out of the corner of his eye, Chris sees him skate to a stop to watch.  _ How’s this, Viktor? _ Chris thinks to himself, and jumps it again.

“A deal’s a deal,” Josef says after practice is done, while Chris unlaces his boots. “Put it in.”

“I won’t let you down,” Chris promises, standing up and stretching.

Josef catches him by the shoulder. “I told you once that nothing you could do would ever let me down, and I meant it,” he says, looking Chris in the eye. “Don’t do it for me. Do it for you. Do it to prove to yourself that you can.”

Chris nods. He can do that.

Being in second place, he’s skating second-to-last, and that leaves him a nice long time to warm up and try to drown out the sounds of the crowd cheering for the other four skaters. Viktor is once again in his periphery, jogging up and down the corridors with an intense look in his eye. Chris blocks him out and keeps stretching his hamstrings.

The replacement jump composition he and Josef have worked out changes his quad Sal just before the halfway mark to a flip. His first jump, a triple Lutz, goes smoothly, and he goes into the quad flip with confidence, plenty of speed, and a perfect entrance.

It isn’t enough. He wipes out, landing on his side and rolling. Practice gets him back on his feet in moments, and he goes on autopilot into his contingency, adding a combination onto his double loop in the second half. It’s not bad. His scores, when he gets them, are good. If it were anyone other than Viktor waiting for his music to start, he might have won.

But it is Viktor, and Viktor has come back from injury as a powerhouse, the likes of which Chris has honestly never seen. His free skate is sheer perfection, the quad flip somehow still flawless as the first jump in his program.

Josef is looking at him worriedly when Chris comes back to himself, and he musters up a reassuring smile for his coach. “It’s alright,” he says. “He earned it.”

Josef visibly relaxes. “That he did, lad. Hell of a skater.” He claps for Viktor’s scores, and Chris does the same.

“Hell of a skater,” Chris echoes.

The silver around his neck really does feel quite good, he decides on the podium. He can be happy with it. And what feels better is Viktor’s hand around his forearm as they climb down after the cameras are gone, and the way he leans forward to murmur, “We both have to skate tomorrow, but after?”

“After the gala,” Chris confirms. “I have a few hours before we fly out.” He drops Viktor a wink. “Champion’s choice.” Viktor’s eyes gleam.

Chris’ exhibition skate this year is more of the same of his short program, lust and sauciness, a thin white button-down open halfway down his chest. It does plenty to put him in the mood, and Viktor’s exhibition does the rest, his shorn hair flying about his head, exposing the long line of his neck as he spins.

Viktor plasters himself to Chris’ back as Chris fumbles his hotel room door open, and they’re on each other before it closes, tearing at each other’s clothes and kissing hungrily. “Have you decided what you wanted?” Chris asks, laughing as Viktor almost pops a button loose in his haste to get his shirt off.

Viktor grabs and kisses him. “I want to ride you,” he says, voice low and gravelly. “Can I?”

“Absolutely,” Chris says, working his trousers and briefs down over his hips.

Viktor stretches himself, kneeling over Chris while Chris tends to his own erection. “I did a little bit before the gala,” he says, face screwed up in concentration. “Just need to,  _ ah, _ refresh things.” Condom on, Chris wraps his hand around Viktor’s cock, not stroking, just holding it loosely. “Fuck,” Viktor says eloquently. “I’m ready.”

Viktor tosses his head back as he sinks down on Chris’ cock, a move that would have sent his old hair flying beautifully, and currently accentuates the lines of his neck and shoulders in a way that makes Chris’ mouth water. “You’re fucking stunning,” he bites out, just in case Viktor doesn’t know. Viktor looks down at him, laughing, only to cry out as Chris snaps his hips up, pushing the rest of the way inside him.

True to his word, Chris lets Viktor set the pace, and soon they’re both grunting and groaning as their hips slap together, Chris’ hands digging bruises into Viktor’s hips. “Fuck, your cock feels so good,” Viktor breathes. “Pull my hair?” Chris gets his fingers into the shortened strands and tugs, and Viktor gasps, one hand moving to strip over his own cock.

“Fuck, Chris, harder, make me come,” Viktor demands. Chris hauls himself forward to sink his teeth into Viktor’s shoulder, hips pistoning even harder into him, and when that doesn’t do it he reaches one hand around to where his cock is splitting Viktor open, pressing the pads of two of his fingers against Viktor’s stretched rim.

Viktor comes with a shocked cry, jerking and splashing onto Chris’ chest. A few more thrusts and Chris is gone too, falling back against the pillows with a breathless laugh. “Fuck, that was good,” he manages after a few seconds, rubbing his hands across his face.

Viktor leans down and kisses him, quick and dirty. “It’s always good with you,” he says, shockingly sweet, before lifting himself off Chris’ cock and standing. “Thank you. I needed this.”

“My pleasure,” Chris says honestly, before rolling himself to his feet and making for the bathroom to clean himself off.


	16. fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nationals is almost an anticlimax after the emotional roller coaster that was the Grand Prix Final. But he texts with Nadja and Mat the whole train ride up, and he’s able to muster up some excitement by the time they get to Zug. “Can I do the quad flip?” he says to Josef in the cab to the hotel.

Nationals is almost an anticlimax after the emotional roller coaster that was the Grand Prix Final. But he texts with Nadja and Mat the whole train ride up, and he’s able to muster up some excitement by the time they get to Zug. “Can I do the quad flip?” he says to Josef in the cab to the hotel.

“You don’t need it,” Josef says. “I don’t want you risking injury for points you don’t need when your technical base score is ten points higher than anyone else’s.”

“It’ll be good practice for the Euros,” Chris counters. “And if I fall, my advantage is high enough that I’ll probably still medal.”

“You could fall both times and still win,” Josef says. “That doesn’t mean risking your neck makes sense.”

“Any time I jump, I risk my neck,” Chris points out. “I don’t want to slow my momentum down for Nationals only to have to pick it back up in January.”

They argue the whole way to the hotel, and to Chris’ surprise, he wins. “If you really think you can do it, then I guess I won’t stand in your way,” Josef relents, patting Chris on the shoulder in the hotel elevator. “Just promise me you’ll use some sense.”

“I promise,” Chris says, too surprised and relieved to try and argue that he’s always sensible.

He hasn’t had any real time with Mat since before the Final, and as they laugh and chatter with Nadja in her room, it’s a real fight to keep himself from jumping the man. Mat feels similarly, to judge from the way his eyes keep flickering to Chris and the way his hand keeps finding its way to Chris’ knee.

They don’t get any time alone that night, but Chris drags Mat into a supply closet at the rink for a hurried makeout between their events. “God, I’ve missed you,” Mat hisses, kissing Chris as fiercely as he can without leaving any visible sign.

“Tomorrow,” Chris whispers, tipping his head back for Mat to trail his lips up his neck. “I’ll come to your room tomorrow, after everything’s done.”

“I want to be inside you,” Mat breathes, and every nerve in Chris’ body lights up. They haven’t done that yet; Mat expressed some hesitation about topping when the idea was first broached over the summer, and Chris hasn’t wanted to push. “Please, Chris, can I fuck you tomorrow night?” Mat goes on, one hand on Chris’ lower back and the other cupping his ass.

“Fuck, Mat,” Chris says reverently, catching his mouth to bite gently at his lips. “Of course you can. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Mat says. He kisses Chris again, all lips and tongue, and then presses their foreheads together. “God, you’re going to be the death of me,” he murmurs, his mouth curved up in a sweet smile that makes Chris’ heart beat even faster.

“Only the little death,” Chris says, and Mat laughs, too loud for their rendezvous.

They take that as their cue to stop, sneaking out of the closet and back to their respective coaches. Chris somehow lands the quad flip in his short with the remnants of that erection, and makes a mental note to himself to kiss Mat senseless before every performance. It seems to be good luck.

He lands it the next day too, and wins the gold by an impressive margin. “Well done,” Josef tells him after the medal ceremony, and that feels almost as good as the gold around his neck. “I want to stay and watch Mat and Nadja,” he says, rubbing at the metal circle absentmindedly.

Josef goes back to the hotel, so he isn’t there when Mat and Nadja’s free dance drives Chris to tears. It’s achingly sentimental, every movement an extension of repressed love, and Chris buys into it fully even though he knows they’re nowhere near in love with each other.

They win, of course they win, and Chris snaps a blurry, too-far shot of them on the top podium, holding their medals up to their beaming faces. He finds them in the backstage area and Nadja jumps on him, squeezing him tight before demanding his medal to compare them.

Chris expects to have to make some excuses to get alone with Mat, but instead Nadja just bids them goodbye in the elevator and gets off at her floor without a fuss. He cocks an eyebrow at Mat once it’s just them. Mat grimaces. “Once we’re inside,” is all he says.

Once the door to Mat’s hotel room is shut behind them, Mat pins him to it with a deep, full-bodied kiss that makes Chris moan and clutch at him. They kiss for long minutes, until Chris is boneless, held up only by the pressure of Mat’s body holding him to the door. Mat finally releases him, brushing their noses together, and sighs. “Nadja knows about us.”

“You told her?” Chris asks, surprised.

Mat shakes his head. “I guess we were a little more obvious than we thought the other night. She worked it out.”

“Well, she knows us both very well,” Chris says, rubbing his hands up and down Mat’s back in an attempt to be reassuring. “Are you okay with her knowing?”

“Does it matter now?” Mat asks, before shaking his head at himself. “I trust her. She has as much reason as I do to keep it secret.”

“And she loves us,” Chris says softly. “She wouldn’t do anything to hurt us.”

“No,” Mat agrees. “She wouldn’t.”

There’s a worry in Mat’s eyes still that Chris doesn’t like, so he brushes their noses together again and says, “Your free dance made me cry.”

That brings the light back into Mat’s face, a bashful happiness that makes Chris grin. “I was thinking of you,” he confesses, voice low.

Part of Chris wants to tell him not to say things like that when they’re trying to be casual about each other, but a much larger part of him wants to coo and put his tongue in Mat’s mouth to get this show on the road, and he gladly goes with that urge instead. They stumble toward the bed, shedding clothing as they go. “Do you still want to...” Chris asks.

Mat nods. “If you do.”

“I definitely do.”

Mat’s fingers are long, thin but powerful, and they feel like heaven inside Chris as he takes his time prepping him. Chris urges him on with moans and words until he’s gaping open and begging; only then does Mat roll a condom on and take his place between Chris’ spread thighs.

Mat pushes inside him slowly, and Chris can’t take his eyes off his face while he does. “Fuck,” Mat whispers once he’s fully seated, bending down to kiss Chris.  _ “Fuck, _ you feel so good.”

“Fuck me, Mat,” Chris whines, “baby, please.”

Mat  _ growls _ at the endearment and starts to move, little rocking thrusts at first that slowly develop into longer, deeper things that send his cock so deep inside Chris he can feel it in his throat.  _ “Yes,” _ Chris moans, ankles hooking around Mat’s legs to keep him going.

Mat keeps fucking him, dropping down for kisses whenever their bodies allow, and then his face screws up, almost pained.  _ “Shit. _ Chris, I’m not going to last,” he grits out. “I can’t, I—”

“It’s okay,” Chris says, pushing a hand into his hair. “Just give me what you can, it’s alright.”

Mat lasts another minute before locking his hips against Chris’ with a grunting cry that almost sends Chris over the edge. “I’m sorry,” he gasps once he’s capable. “I’m sorry, Chris.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Chris tells him, running his hands through his hair and holding as still as he can with a still-hard cock inside him. “It’s alright, I promise.”

“I wanted it to be good for you,” Mat says, eyes shut tight in disappointment.

Chris laughs. “Baby, it was good for me.” Mat opens his eyes and looks at him. Chris brushes a thumb over his cheek. “It’s you,” he says. “It’s you, and so it can’t not be good for me.”

Mat kisses him instead of saying whatever it is he wants to say at that, and then he slides himself out of Chris’ body with a wince. He locates another condom in his suitcase and rolls it onto Chris, slicking up two fingers and pushing them back inside him as he takes him into his mouth.

“Oh fuck, baby,” Chris says, to feel that growl around his cock, “yes, yes, just like that, don’t stop,  _ oh...” _ He comes, a long slow unspooling into Mat’s mouth, and collapses back on the bed with a happy sigh.

Mat takes care of their condoms and crawls back up the bed, settling against Chris’ side and throwing a hand over his waist. Chris feels him open his mouth and says, “Don’t apologize again. You really don’t have to.”

Chris can hear the snap as Mat shuts his mouth again. “Alright,” he says instead, snuggling further into Chris’ shoulder. Chris sends his fingers carding through Mat’s hair, his other thumb rubbing over the skin of Mat’s forearm where it’s lying on Chris’ stomach.

It’s a wrench to leave him, but he has to; they can’t risk sleepovers at competitions, they decided over the summer. Mat gazes at him sleepily as he dresses, and Chris has to lean down and kiss his forehead before he can make himself leave.

They don’t get a chance to see each other again until the Euros, and Chris throws himself into training the quad flip. He’s spending more time on it now than he was during the Series, with Josef’s blessing, and his consistency is slowly going up. Josef agrees to put the jump in for Euros the day before they leave.

Euros is, frankly, a hazy blur of sex hormones and adrenaline, and he doesn’t remember much of it by the time it’s over. He remembers landing the quad flip during his short and one-handing it during his free, earning himself a silver to Viktor’s gold; he remembers sucking Viktor’s cock in the rink bathroom before the gala, patting his hair back into normalcy afterward; he remembers playing footsie under the table with Mat while they have dinner with Nadja, and the fond roll of her eyes when he accidentally kicks her instead. The rest of it is a foggy cloud in his memory, but he must acquit himself well enough, because Josef doesn’t say anything on the flight home, just congratulates him on his medal and puts his audiobook on.

Worlds is more of the same, although Chris has his head on a little more tightly for it. Viktor returns the favor from the Euros, giving Chris the quickest, roughest hand job he’s ever had ten minutes before he gets on the ice for the free. His PCS is unusually high after that skate, inching him into the silver medal position, and Viktor tips him a  _ you’re welcome _ wink from his place at the top of the podium.

Mat comes over the week after they get home from Tokyo and eats Chris out for forty-five minutes. Chris comes once during it, rutting his cock shamelessly against the mattress, and then Mat turns him over and slides inside him. They’re both giggling as he throws Chris’ legs apart and pulls his hips into his lap, and Chris can’t hold back a bit of a cackle as Mat thrusts into him a half-dozen times and comes with a shout.

Mat scowls at him, but there’s fondness in his eyes, and Chris bites his lip flirtatiously as he pulls out. The mood shifts a little, though, when Mat pushes his fingers deep into Chris’ hole; his eyes turn piercing, dark and intense and pinning Chris to the mattress, and instead of laughing Chris is moaning, unable to look away from Mat’s face as Mat fingers him to another orgasm while Chris writhes and quivers under him.

Mat leaves just long enough to swirl some of Chris’ mouthwash around his mouth and then comes back to where Chris is still trembling from the aftershocks. He splays himself directly on top of Chris and catches his mouth, minty-fresh tongue sweeping in like a conqueror. Chris moans again and throws his arms around him, letting himself be kissed for as long as Mat feels like it, which turns out to be quite awhile.

“I’m so glad it’s you,” Mat mumbles sleepily, once they’ve stopped kissing and he’s rolled off Chris to curl up against his side. “I can’t picture anyone else; it could only have been you.”

More non-casual talk, and once again Chris can’t bring himself to protest, only wrap Mat up tighter in his arms and bury his nose in his hair. “I’m glad it’s you too,” he murmurs, and Mat sighs happily, already three-quarters of the way asleep.


	17. sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mat comes on a Friday. He’s scheduled the plasterers to come and do their work over days neither of them have to skate very much, so he and Chris will have the most time together. Chris lets him in with a smile, standing aside as Mat comes in and drops his suitcase on the floor, then reaches for Chris, sweeping him into his arms with a deep kiss. “Hi honey,” he murmurs, eyes bright with amusement. “I’m home.”

_ Mat _

_ >> So guess what _

_ You miss my kiss terribly and are on your way over to sweep me off my feet << _

_ >> Well, yes, that, minus the on my way over part, sadly _

_ >> But that’s not what I was talking about _

_ >> You remember that crack in my ceiling? _

_ Yes << _

_ >> Turns out it’s a bigger deal than I anticipated _

_ >> My contractor came by and apparently they have to replaster my whole ceiling _

_ >> I need to be out of the apartment for at least three days _

_ Omg << _

_ Yes << _

_ >> Silly Christophe, I haven’t even asked you anything yet _

_ Ask, then << _

_ >> Can I stay at yours for a few days next week? _

_ YES << _

_ We’ll play house << _

_ Domesticity galore << _

_ >> Thank you _

_ >> That sounds lovely _

_ >> I can’t wait _

_ Me neither << _

Mat comes on a Friday. He’s scheduled the plasterers to come and do their work over days neither of them have to skate very much, so he and Chris will have the most time together. Chris lets him in with a smile, standing aside as Mat comes in and drops his suitcase on the floor, then reaches for Chris, sweeping him into his arms with a deep kiss. “Hi honey,” he murmurs, eyes bright with amusement. “I’m home.”

Chris presses their mouths together again, a sweet, lingering tease of a kiss, then pulls back. “Are you hungry?”

Mat’s arms tighten around him. “Not for food.”

Chris rolls his eyes, biting back a smile. “Then let’s get your suitcase into the bedroom,” he says, looking up through his eyelashes at Mat, who’s staring down at him hungrily. Chris takes his hand and picks up his suitcase with the other, giving him another coquettish look before dragging him into the bedroom.

They make love as desperately as if they hadn’t seen each other just last week, Mat’s thighs tight around Chris’ hips as Chris thrusts frantically into him, their mouths panting against each other. When it’s over, Mat confesses to an actual hunger, for food rather than cock. Chris dresses himself in his sluttiest bathrobe and throws some chicken and vegetables in the oven, and they make out lazily against the counter while the smell of dinner permeates the kitchen.

The next morning, Chris wakes on his stomach with Mat sprawled across his back. Smiling privately, he frees himself from Mat’s grip and heads into the kitchen, putting a pot of coffee on and turning on the sink to wash the dishes from the previous night.

He’s only a few minutes into it, rinsing the soap suds from a plate, when arms wrap around him from behind and Mat’s cheek, a little stubbly, presses against his own. “Good morning,” Chris murmurs, nuzzling him.

In answer, Mat kisses his cheek, and then his jaw, and then just behind his ear. Chris is wearing a low-slung pair of sweatpants and nothing else, and Mat’s hands start to roam, stroking over his stomach and thumbing his nipples while he licks and nips at Chris’ jawline. Chris moans, letting his eyes fall shut and his head tip to one side, his cock swelling in his sweatpants.

One of Mat’s hands dips low, venturing under his waistband to brush against his cock before taking him firmly in hand. Chris whines, and Mat starts sucking lightly on his neck while he strokes. It’s a dry grip, and the friction is just right to send Chris a little crazier than normal. He wraps one hand around Mat’s moving wrist, the other propping himself up against the counter.

He’s vocal in his appreciation, moaning and gasping and pushing his ass back to grind into Mat’s crotch. Mat hums and Chris can feel the vibration against the tender skin of his neck where Mat is still latched on. His hand never stops, stroking Chris in the way he’s come to know Chris loves. The coffee machine finishes at some point before Chris does, the air filling with the familiar aroma. It combines with the smell of Mat, still sleep-warm and sharpened by his arousal, and Chris lets his head loll back on his neck.

Mat catches Chris’ come in his hand when he spills and shudders, pulling off his neck with a gorgeous, wet pop. “What was that for?” Chris murmurs, leaning against him while he catches his breath.

Mat kisses his cheek again, reaching for the roll of paper towels next to the sink. “Just feeling lucky this morning,” he murmurs, tearing a sheet off. “The coffee’s ready.” With that he’s gone, leaving Chris to collect himself and finish the dishes.

When he’s finished, and has made up two cups of coffee, he turns and finds Mat seated at the kitchen table, still with heat in his eyes. Chris sets the cups on the table, fetches a condom from his nearest stash in the living room, and drops to his knees between Mat’s legs. Mat’s hand works its way into his hair and grips tight. It’s an excellent way to start the morning.

Mat stays the whole weekend. He has to skate on Saturday and Chris has a workout Sunday that he can’t skip, but otherwise they spend the time holed up in Chris’ apartment, wrapped around each other while watching TV or abandoning all pretense to fuck on every surface they can make work. It’s more sex than Chris has had packed into a concentrated span of time since the Olympics with Vahe, and he’s never felt more alive, invigorated by every touch of Mat’s hand or cock or tongue.

They also find time to just talk, Chris’ head in Mat’s lap with fingers carding through his hair, or over a meal at Chris’ tiny kitchen table. Chris tells Mat about his plans for the season, and Mat tells Chris about his family. Chris learns Mat’s favorite color, which has somehow never come up before, and they both agree that cats are the ideal domestic animal. “Good to know we agree,” Mat says, trailing a finger down Chris’ cheek where it’s pressed against his thigh.

“Good to know,” Chris echoes, his stomach squirming.

Mat leaves on Monday afternoon, when the smell of fresh paint has dissipated from his apartment. “Thanks for letting me stay,” he says, pulling Chris into his arms again before he goes. “We’ll have to do this again. I had a lovely time.”

“Me too,” Chris says, copping one last feel of Mat’s tight ass. “You’re welcome anytime.”

Mat’s dedicated attention at the kitchen sink left a mark on Chris’ neck, but it’s mostly faded by the time Chris has to report back to the rink, and if Josef notices, he doesn’t let on. Chris is landing the quad flip more than eighty percent of the time now, and they’re building his programs for the next season around it.

The programs are set by early August. His short is a jive, fast and high-spirited, and his free is a slow, sexy prowl of a dance, thrumming bass and a clinging costume that leaves very little to the imagination.

Nadja brings up the elephant in the room not long after that, at a lunch that’s just her and Chris, eating Chinese food out of the containers in her tiny studio. “I haven’t wanted to pry,” she says through a mouthful of rice and chicken, “and I figured if you didn’t bring it up, things must be going okay. But are they? With Mat, I mean. Is he treating you alright?”

“He’s treating me fine,” Chris says. “Wonderfully,” he adds, feeling his cheeks heat. Nadja somehow manages to roll her eyes and smile encouragingly at the same time. “It’s really good, Nads. You don’t have to worry.”

“I remember how he disappeared on you after you kissed him,” Nadja says. “I’ll always worry about you, Chris; you’re my best friend. But are things getting properly serious with him? He stayed with you for a few days, right?”

Chris shifts, stabbing his chopsticks into his own beef and broccoli. “I want things to be serious with him. And I think he wants that too. So sometimes we slip. But for the most part it’s just casual, like we agreed.”

“Okay,” she says slowly. “As long as you’re happy.”

“I am,” he confirms.

She nods decisively. “And if that ever changes, I’ll kill him.” Chris laughs and the mood is broken.

One evening in early September, his plans with Mat are abruptly canceled by the onset of a sudden head cold. “I’m sorry,” Mat says stuffily over the phone. “I don’t want to risk you getting sick.”

“It’s alright,” Chris says. “Do you need soup?”

Mat laughs nasally. “Maybe tomorrow? Right now I just want to sleep.”

“Take care of yourself,” Chris tells him, and once Mat promises, they hang up. Faced with a sudden evening alone, Chris decides to doll himself up and take himself out. There’s a gay club nearby he hasn’t been to in a while, and he could do with some non-skating-related dancing.

It’s still relatively quiet when he gets there, and he installs himself at the bar with a drink to wait for the crowd to thicken out a bit on the dance floor. He’s just wishing he’d thought to bring a book when someone leans onto the counter next to him.

When he looks, it’s a short, lean man with thin pink and blue glasses and a mop of dishwater hair. “Hi,” he says in broad, flat English. “Sorry to interrupt your evening. It’s just that when I was nineteen, I promised myself that if I ever had the chance I’d shoot my shot with you, so to honor my past self’s wishes, I figured I had to at least come over and say hello. Can I buy you a drink?”

Chris lets the torrent of quickly-spoken words wash over him. “Only if you have one with me,” he says, slipping into his most winning smile. “Have a seat, stay awhile.”

“Great,” the man says, grinning widely. He drops into the chair next to Chris’, signalling to the bartender and ordering another whiskey for Chris and a martini for himself. “I hope it doesn’t freak you out that I know you are,” he says, turning back to Chris. “I promise not to tell anyone you were here.”

“I appreciate that,” Chris says. “What’s your name?”

“Jordy,” the man says. “I’m here on business.”

“From America?”

“Yes.” Jordy accepts his martini from the bartender and takes a sip. “Business meeting with the Swiss offices, of course Skype won’t suffice, so I had to come in person.”

“Lucky me,” Chris drawls.

Jordy flushes a bright red but pushes on. “What brings you out tonight, Mr. Giacometti? Christophe? Chris? What do you like to be called?”

“Chris is perfect,” Chris says. “And I’m here because my plans for the evening got canceled and I didn’t want to sit at home all night.”

“No plans, huh?” Jordy gives him a once-over that makes it abundantly clear that he thinks that’s the best news he’s heard all night. Chris winks, and he goes that delightful red again. “What about the morning?”

“I have to be at the rink at nine,” Chris says, leaning back in his chair. “So I should warn you, if you’re a serial killer, I will be missed.”

Jordy laughs, a thin reedy thing that nonetheless makes Chris smile. “Oh, I don’t want to kill you, Chris,” he says. Chris sees his eyes twinkle behind his glasses.

Chris looks him up and down, blatantly lascivious to see if he can get him to blush a third time. “Oh? What do you want to do to me instead?”

Jordy’s jaw drops momentarily, a look of delighted shock spreading across his face. He masters himself quickly, though, and leans in to say, “My company’s put me up in an apartment a block away, if you’d like to find out.”

Chris grins, triumph warming his belly. “Lead the way, good sir.”

Instead of getting up, though, Jordy makes a face. “Look,” he says. “Judging by the fact that you’re here and you’ve just agreed to go home with me, I assume you like men.” He holds up a hand. “I won’t tell anyone or out you to anyone, I promise.”

“Assume away, then.”

Jordy takes a deep breath, then looks him square in the eye. “How do you feel about clitorises?”

“Oh.” Chris considers how to phrase it. “No experience. Very willing.”

“I can work with that,” Jordy says. “Let’s go.”

Chris signals for his bill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're not subscribed to the series, now is the time, because tomorrow I'm posting the first of the bonus side stories! This one's about Chris' night with Jordy.


	18. seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the quad flip now firmly in his repertoire, Chris breezes through the Grand Prix series with an ease that surprises him. It helps that he doesn’t have to compete directly with Viktor in his two assignments, but the other skater doesn’t seem surprised regardless. “The old guard is moving out,” Viktor says on the phone one night in early December, “and we’ve always been at the top of the class for our generation. I picked you as my foil for a reason, Chris.”
> 
> “And that reason is that I’ll always be half a step behind you?” Chris asks, grumpy from a long day of practice between his last event and the Final, and sore from a couple of missed flips that sent him slamming onto the ice.
> 
> “Because you’re the only real competition I have,” Viktor says, not a hint of arrogance in his voice despite his words.

With the quad flip now firmly in his repertoire, Chris breezes through the Grand Prix series with an ease that surprises him. It helps that he doesn’t have to compete directly with Viktor in his two assignments, but the other skater doesn’t seem surprised regardless. “The old guard is moving out,” Viktor says on the phone one night in early December, “and we’ve always been at the top of the class for our generation. I picked you as my foil for a reason, Chris.”

“And that reason is that I’ll always be half a step behind you?” Chris asks, grumpy from a long day of practice between his last event and the Final, and sore from a couple of missed flips that sent him slamming onto the ice.

“Because you’re the only real competition I have,” Viktor says, not a hint of arrogance in his voice despite his words.

“Whoa there,” Chris says, flopping onto his couch with an ice pack. “You’ve won one season. Lots of people have done that.”

“No one else has won as many seasons as I’m going to,” Viktor tells him, still matter-of-fact rather than boastful. “Last season was just the start.”

“I’m a little offended you don’t actually seem to view me as competition, despite what you just said,” Chris says, stung.

“Don’t be stupid,” Viktor says. “Of course you are. I’m not explaining this right.” He goes silent for a moment, and Chris lets him be, settling the ice pack on the worst of the bruising on his right hip. “I’m going to do great things in this sport,” Viktor says finally. “I already have, and I’m going to do more. But I couldn’t do any of it if I didn’t have you on the podium beside me. I need you, Chris, and what’s more, you need me. We’re a matched pair on the ice.”

“Well, I have no doubt about the great things you’ll do,” Chris says. “But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to let you win every season. I’ll give you a fight every time, and I’m going to win some.”

“I know you’ll fight, Chris.” Viktor’s voice is warm. “That’s why I...” He falters, and Chris has to smile.

“Say it, Viktor,” he says teasingly, mood lightening a bit. “Say that’s why you love me.”

Viktor groans. “You’re insufferable.” He goes a little quiet again, and then says, “I think you’re my best friend. Is that it? Are we friends?”

“Of course we’re friends, Viktor.” Chris laughs. “What did you think we were?”

“Rivals who fuck?”

“Well, we’re definitely that,” Chris allows. “But we’re also friends.”

“Right,” Viktor says. “Friends. I can do friends.”

“You’ve  _ been _ doing friends,” Chris points out. “We’ve been friends for years.”

“Right.” Viktor sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

“And for the record,” Chris adds, propping his feet up on his coffee table. “I love you too, and you’re one of my best friends too.”

“Ugh,” Viktor says. “This conversation is giving me hives.”

“Not me,” Chris tells him smugly. “I’m well-adjusted.”

“Don’t be a braggart,” Viktor snaps back. “I have to go; it’s Makkachin’s dinner time. I’ll see you at the Final.”

“Give Makka my love,” Chris says, still amused, and hangs up.

Quebec is bitingly cold in December, even for someone as resolutely Swiss as Chris, and he, Mat, and Nadja are like a walking scarf commercial as they make their way toward the nearest restaurant for dinner the night they all arrive. “Remind me why we do a winter sport?” Nadja gripes, unwinding hers from around her neck once they’re inside.

“The cold makes our cheeks flush winningly,” Chris tells her, shrugging out of his coat to hang it on the peg by the table. “I’m starving.”

They settle in, Mat next to Chris and Nadja across from them, and peruse the menu. Chris hooks his foot around Mat’s ankle for the hell of it, and has to bite back a grin when Mat’s foot nuzzles back. Nadja sends them a glowing look; Chris puts on his most innocent expression, and grins to himself when it makes her laugh.

They’ve just ordered when Chris catches sight of a familiar flash of silver coming in the door of the restaurant. “Viktor!” he calls, waving. Viktor looks over at him, says something to the host, and makes his way over to their table.

“Chris,” he greets him with a nod. “And the top ice dancers of Switzerland,” he adds, eyes flicking to Mat and Nadja. “Are you hosting your own Nationals?”

“Ugh, don’t remind us,” Chris says with a wince. Nationals overlaps with the Final this year; it was not a difficult decision, but missing Nationals is still a wrench. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting food,” Viktor says, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t be cute,” Chris snarks back. “Want to join us?”

Viktor’s eyes flick to Nadja, and then to Mat, who has gone very still, Chris’ foot still hooked around his ankle. “I can’t,” he says. “Yakov and I are wining and dining a sponsor tonight. But thank you for the invitation.”

“Can’t lose that sponsor money,” Nadja agrees. “Another time.”

“Sure,” Viktor says. “Chris, I’ll see you later?”

There’s a strange sort of pointedness to his tone, and a sharpness in his eyes that Chris doesn’t usually see outside of the bedroom. “Of course,” Chris says, and Viktor waves at them and goes back to the host, who shows him to a table across the restaurant.

“I’ve never actually spoken to him before,” Nadja says in a hushed voice, leaning over the table. “I’m a little starstruck.”

“Don’t be,” Chris tells her. “He’s not that special.” She titters, and their conversation resumes, although Mat is a little quieter than normal.

Viktor one-hands a triple Lutz during the short programs, so Chris finishes the day in first. Josef drags him schmoozing and interviewing for a few hours, then releases him. “Go to bed,” he says warningly. “You have a lead. We don’t want you losing it because you were distracted and up all night.”

“Yes, Coach,” Chris says. Josef claps him on the arm, and he heads back to the hotel.

It’s late, but if he squints at the time he can justify another half an hour before bed, so he wanders up to Mat’s room and knocks on the door. “Oh,” Mat says, opening it in his pajamas. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

“I only have a few minutes, but I wanted to see you,” Chris says. “Can I come in?”

Mat lets him in and kisses him, sweet and quick. “You skated well today,” he says, climbing back into bed. Chris crawls on top of the covers and insinuates himself into Mat’s arms. “A well-deserved small gold.”

“You did too,” Chris says. Mat and Nadja are in a neck-and-neck second place going into their free dance in two days. “Are you nervous?”

Mat shakes his head. “I’m rarely nervous once I’m actually at the competition,” he says. “It’s the lead-up that gets me.” Chris hums in acknowledgment and snuggles in closer, one finger tracing meaningless patterns across Mat’s sleep shirt. “How long have you been sleeping with Viktor Nikiforov?” Mat asks abruptly, after a few minutes.

Chris blinks, startled. “Who says I’m sleeping with him?”

“He made it pretty evident at dinner the other day,” Mat says darkly.

Chris sighs. “Don’t ask me questions that require outing other people, Mat. I don’t do that.”

Mat lets out a long breath. “No, you’re right. That wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.”

He’s still a little stiff, and Chris props his chin on Mat’s shoulder, amused. “Are you experiencing the emotion known as jealousy?”

“No,” Mat says instantly, and then, “Yes. A little.” He groans, rubbing his face with one hand.

Chris laughs and kisses his cheek. “It’s a good look on you,” he tells him.

“Is it?”

Chris nods. “I like a little possession in my lover, as long as it doesn’t get unhealthy.”

“Good to know,” Mat murmurs. “It doesn’t feel good.”

Chris sits up, catching Mat’s chin and turning him to look at him. “I know it’s been a long time since we talked about what we are to each other,” he says. “But this seems like a good time to remind you that anytime you want to be exclusive, we can do that. All you have to do is ask.”

Mat looks at him for a long moment, then sighs. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” he says, voice low. “Much as I wish it were different.”

“That’s okay,” Chris says. “I don’t want to push you where you’re not comfortable. We can keep doing casual for now. But I should warn you, I don’t know how much longer I’m willing to pretend that we only feel casually about each other.”

Mat grimaces apologetically. “That’s fair.” He takes Chris’ hand, rubbing over the back of it with his thumb while he thinks. “I don’t want to sit here and pretend that my feelings for you aren’t serious,” he says, “because they are. But I’m not in a position to be a good boyfriend right now. You deserve better than what I could give you if we tried this seriously.”

Chris turns his hand over in Mat’s, lacing their fingers together and trying to quell the ferocious beating of his heart. “Alright,” he says. “Like I said, I don’t want to push you. What we’ve been doing is great. For the time being.”

“Thank you,” Mat says, gratitude laced through his voice. Chris kisses him and Mat melts into it, letting go of Chris’ hand to cradle his jaw and tilt his head for better access.

They kiss for a few minutes before Chris pulls away and smiles. “I’m proud of us,” he says.

Mat smiles back at him, stroking his cheek. “Mature, healthy check-ins,” he says. “Who knew?” Chris grins and kisses him again before taking his leave.

Chris manages a good night’s sleep once he makes it back to his room, waking with enough time before official practice to obtain coffee and drop one cup off at Josef’s room. “You’re peppy,” his coach says, rubbing his face and drinking deep.

“Slept well,” Chris says. “I feel ready for today.”

“Good,” Josef says. “Get some breakfast and I’ll meet you at the rink.”

Viktor finds him while the ladies are doing their free skates and the men are warming up backstage. “I hope I didn’t make things awkward for you with Bieri,” he says, pulling Chris aside. “He seemed a little tense when we ran into each other the other night.”

Chris sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I really wish people would stop asking me things that rely on me potentially outing people,” he says pointedly, and Viktor has the grace to look abashed. “Without revealing anything that isn’t mine to reveal,” Chris goes on, “he and I are fine. No awkwardness at all.”

Viktor nods. “I don’t want to get in the way of a proper love affair. Not that you and Bieri are having one,” he adds at Chris’ glare. “Just, if you were.”

“If we were,” Chris says, “it wouldn’t really be your place to get possessive over me.” However hot Chris found it in the moment.

“I know,” Viktor says, “and I won’t again, I promise. I’m not used to sharing your attention, but I will get good at it.”

“Good.” Chris claps him on the shoulder. “Now can I please finish warming up?”

“Right,” Viktor says. “Carry on. I want a proper fight from you.”

Chris gives him one, gives him all he’s got, but Viktor’s free skate this season is a thing of pure beauty, and Chris can’t even feel bitter over taking silver to him. “Well skated,” he says to Viktor on the podium.

The look Viktor gives him is a little more heated than they usually get in public, and Chris tells him off for it in Viktor’s hotel room that night, one hand twisted tight in his hair as he fucks his thighs. Viktor gets the message well enough, Chris thinks.


	19. eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris scrolls through Instagram, liking all the pictures from Nationals with a bittersweet sigh.
> 
> Josef looks at his phone screen and puts a hand on Chris’ shoulder. “Look at it this way,” he says. “You gave someone a chance at gold that they wouldn’t have had if you’d been there.”
> 
> “Thanks,” Chris says, considering this. “That helps, I think.”
> 
> “You can win it back next year,” Josef tells him. “For now, break’s over. Time to focus on the Euros.”

Chris scrolls through Instagram, liking all the pictures from Nationals with a bittersweet sigh.

Josef looks at his phone screen and puts a hand on Chris’ shoulder. “Look at it this way,” he says. “You gave someone a chance at gold that they wouldn’t have had if you’d been there.”

“Thanks,” Chris says, considering this. “That helps, I think.”

“You can win it back next year,” Josef tells him. “For now, break’s over. Time to focus on the Euros.”

Chris spends the month and a half between the Final and the Euros working hard enough that he barely sees Mat, let alone Nadja. They make do with late-night phone calls while icing and the scattered meme sent on breaks during the day.

_ Mat _

_ >> I want to see you at Euros _

_ >> I miss you _

_ I know, I miss you too << _

_ I’ve been studying the schedule << _

_ Friday night, maybe? You’ll be done << _

_ >> If it won’t distract you _

_ I’ll be fine << _

_ >> I’ll pencil you in, then _

_ :-* << _

They land in Sheffield, England, on a Tuesday in late January. “God, I hate England,” Josef gripes as they run from the cab into the hotel as quickly as possible.

“I’ll win and make it worth your while,” Chris tells him.

“You’d better.”

He wants to track Viktor down—the other skater hasn’t been holding his end of their text conversation up lately—but he can’t find him anywhere, so he spends the evening in Nadja’s room with her and Mat, comparing the base technical scores of all their competitors and calculating their odds of winning. “You guys have got this in the bag,” Chris tells them. “I, on the other hand, may be fucked.”

“Nonsense,” Nadja says grandly, crossing her feet where they sit on his back. “You nearly had Nikiforov at the Final; you can beat him now.” When Chris doesn’t respond, she adds, “Mat, say something encouraging.”

“Uh,” Mat says, and Chris has to cackle at the caught-out look on his face. “If Nikiforov wanted gold, he shouldn’t be walking around with all that silver on his head?”

Chris bursts out laughing. “That’s the best you can do?” Nadja demands. “This is your lover, and the best you can do is insult his rival’s hair?”

“It’s not even an insult,” Chris wheezes. “Just that it’s silver.”

“And everyone  _ knows _ that his hair is his best feature,” Nadja goes on. “So really, you complimented Chris’ rival, in his hour of need.”

“Sorry,” Mat says. “I never said I was good at emotional support.”

Chris gets ahold of himself. “No, but you’re very pretty, and that makes up for it,” he says, one last snicker bursting forth.

“Well, at least I’ve got that going for me,” Mat mutters, but he winks when Chris catches his eye.

The short dance is right after the opening ceremonies the next day, and Chris does well enough during the public practice in the morning that Josef lets him go. Mat and Nadja are far and away the best of the lot, and half the audience give them a standing ovation when they take their bows. Chris hollers through his cupped hands loud enough that Nadja looks over at him and blows him a kiss as they skate off the ice.

Viktor finally makes an appearance during the warm-up time before they compete the next day. “There you are,” Chris says, taking a break to walk over to where he’s stretching his triceps. “You’ve been incommunicado for a month.”

“Sorry,” Viktor says, grimacing. “Been busy training; not a lot of time for socializing.”

“I’ve been busy training too,” Chris tells him, “but I still made time for my friends.”

Viktor grimaces again. “I said I’m sorry. I’ll do better. It’s just, there’s a lot of pressure on me.”

Chris relents, patting him on the shoulder. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

“Something like that,” Viktor agrees.

Random order means Viktor skates before Chris, so Chris doesn’t see his short program. He hears the crowd, though, and their cheers bear out the score that’s read out for him. Josef, never far, puts a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t try to beat him,” he says. “Try to beat your best performance.”

Chris nods, takes a swallow of water, and starts jogging up and down the hallway.

He ends the day in the spot that is starting to become all too familiar, second to Viktor’s first. “Well skated,” Viktor says as they’re packing up for the night.

“You too,” Chris tells him. “You’ll be tough to beat.”

“That’s the idea,” Viktor says with a wink.

Mat and Nadja clean up the next day, as expected. Josef has Chris in a rink across town during their free dance, so he can’t see it live, but he watches the recording on Youtube while Mat takes a shower in his room afterward. “Is it weird that I find your twizzles pretty sexy?” Chris asks when he comes out, toweling his hair with a tempting vein of water still dripping down his chest.

“Yes,” Mat says. “Twizzles aren’t sexy.”

“They are when you do them.”

Mat gives him a glowing look, tossing his hair towel aside and undoing the one around his waist, leaving him devastatingly bare and glistening. He comes forward slowly, lowering himself to the bed and crawling until he’s fully on top of Chris, leaning down to press their mouths together with a heat that makes Chris moan and push closer.

“How do you want me?” Chris breathes into his mouth, one hand pushed into his wet, thick, gorgeous hair.

Mat licks across Chris’ lower lip. “Inside me,” he says. “Inside me and under me.”

They get Chris out of his clothes in record time, and Mat passes Chris the lube and a condom. “I started in the shower,” he says, so Chris pushes two fingers into him, eyes flickering shut at the tight, grasping heat of him. He knows where Mat’s prostate is by now and he brushes against it, making Mat gasp and clench even tighter around him.

Mat slips down onto his cock with a low, drawn-out groan that makes Chris swear and clutch at his hips. “God,” Mat breathes, head tossed back to reveal the long pale column of his neck. “I could fuck myself on your cock for the rest of my life and never have enough.”

Chris strokes his thigh as he settles into his lap. “I would happily fuck you every day for the rest of our lives,” he says, breathing coming harshly, “except I would miss  _ your _ cock inside  _ me.” _

Mat grins down at him and rests his weight on Chris’ chest. “Who says we can’t do both?” he asks, a wicked tilt to his lips. He rocks his hips forward and then rolls them back, and both of them groan. “I’ll fuck you in the morning,” he goes on, doing it again, “and you’ll fuck me at night.”

“With—oh  _ fuck, _ Mat—with blowjobs for lunch?” Chris says with a laugh, lifting his hips to fuck himself into Mat as Mat slips back down onto him. “And I’d need,  _ yes, _ I’d need to eat you out a few times a week on top of that.”

Mat moans, picking up the pace. His cock is dragging along Chris’ stomach, and he ruts harder against him. “We’d have to schedule everything else around sex,” he pants, moving his hands to the sheets on either side of Chris’ head for more leverage. “Skating, responsibilities, everything would have to take a backseat to our fuck schedule.”

Chris grits his teeth and shoves his torso up, slamming his mouth into Mat’s in a kiss that knocks their teeth together in a way that would be painful if he could feel pain at the moment. “Fuck it,” he murmurs, “let it all burn, as long as we make each other feel this good.”

“Fuck, Chris,” Mat whimpers, eyes screwing shut.  _ “Fuck me.” _

And Chris does, one hand propping himself up while the other grips Mat’s hip to hold him in place and drag him down to meet Chris’ thrusts. He fucks Mat and fucks Mat and fucks Mat until Mat comes untouched with a little scream and Chris slams into his clenching hole and follows him over the edge.

Mat collapses onto his chest once he’s unseated himself, and they catch their breath, cuddling. “One day we’re going to have bad sex,” Chris muses idly, fingers stroking through Mat’s hair.

Mat snickers. “Seems unlikely.”

“Statistically, I mean,” Chris says. “It can’t all be mind-bogglingly amazing.”

Mat looks up at him. “Chris, every time I top, it’s over in under five minutes,” he says drily. “That’s not mind-bogglingly amazing.”

“Yes it is,” Chris insists. “You’re a good top, and I always have a great time. We just need to get you a cockring, or some numbing gel. Not because you need to last longer,” he adds at the look in Mat’s eyes. “Just because it bothers you, and I don’t want you worrying about it when you could be having joyous sex with me.”

Mat sighs and puts his cheek back on Chris’ shoulder. “I’ll look into it,” he mumbles sleepily. “Wake me in twenty minutes.”

Naturally, Chris falls asleep in ten, and they both wake to the buzzing of his alarm at dawn. “Ugh,” Chris says eloquently, poking it silent. “Good morning,” he tells the top of Mat’s head.

Mat sits up and stretches. “Fuck,” he says, just as eloquent, and then turns to Chris. “We agreed not to do this.”

“I know,” Chris says ruefully, “I fell asleep, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Mat says. “I’ll go now, before anyone else in the world is awake.”

He dresses in a hurry and leaves Chris with a kiss, and Chris pads into the shower to wash Mat’s come off his chest and finish waking up.

The rest of the Europeans goes about as well as Chris was expecting, if not as well as he’d hoped—he comes in a firm second place after Viktor, trailing him by a meager three points. “One day,” he says out of the side of his mouth on the podium. “One day, Viktor.” Viktor doesn’t say anything, just smiles at the cameras and holds his gold up to his face.

Chris, Mat, and Nadja are on the same flight back to Bern after the competition is over, and they spend it gossiping and drinking the first class champagne. Mat, it turns out, gets handsy when he’s tipsy, and Chris spends the second half of the flight with Mat’s hand getting higher and higher on his thigh. They can’t do anything about it, since their coaches are also on the flight and would notice if they got in the same cab, but it’s nice nonetheless, and Chris jerks himself off to the memory when he gets home.

Worlds is in two months, and Chris, as usual, barely notices the time slipping by, so busy is he with training and conditioning. He and Josef reconfigure his jump composition in his free program to try and scrape back those points standing between him and Viktor, and he gets it down perfectly with two weeks to spare.

One week out from Worlds, he wakes to find his phone buzzing almost off the table. Blinking blearily at it, he scrolls through text notifications from his parents, Viktor, Josef, and Nadja, and, unexpectedly, some Instagram DMs from Jordy. A sinking feeling in his stomach, Chris opens the chat with his parents first.

_ Mom, Dad _

_ >> M: Sweetheart, we just want to say we love you so so so much, and nothing on earth will ever change that _

_ >> D: You’re our magnificent son and you always will be _

_ I just woke up << _

_ This is very sweet, but did something happen? << _

_ My phone’s ringing off the hook << _

_ >> M: Oh, honey _

_ >> M: I’m guessing you haven’t checked your Google Alerts yet? _

_ Oh God << _

_ Tell me << _

_ >> D: Chris, honey, you got outed _

Chris slams out of the chat window and over to his Google Alerts, heart pounding. And there it is, the first link he sees:

**_Chris Giacometti gay? New pics with summer beau suggest that the Swiss heartthrob of figure skating is off the market—for ladies, anyway!_ **

_Pictures of Giacometti holding hands with an unidentified man and leaving one of Bern’s well-known gay bars hit the Internet last night. Sorry, ladies—looks like this dreamboat is looking for love in a different direction!_ _(more...)_

**END OF PART TWO**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ducks*


	20. nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris calls his parents first. “Sweetheart,” his mother says, her voice heartbreakingly soft. “Are you okay?”
> 
> “I...” Chris is lost for words. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I, I don’t—”
> 
> “Take a deep breath,” his father says. “Everything’s going to be just fine, I promise you.”

Chris calls his parents first. “Sweetheart,” his mother says, her voice heartbreakingly soft. “Are you okay?”

“I...” Chris is lost for words. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I, I don’t—”

“Take a deep breath,” his father says. “Everything’s going to be just fine, I _promise_ you.”

“This isn’t how I wanted to tell you.” Chris’ eyes are filling with tears, and he can feel his breath starting to hitch.

“Oh, Chris, don’t worry about us even a little bit,” his mother says. “You could have hired a skywriter and written it in the clouds and we’d be just fine.”

Chris sniffles, wiping his eyes. “Is this the part where you tell me you’ve always known and have just been waiting for me?”

“No,” his dad says. “We didn’t know. But it doesn’t matter. You’re our son, and we love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he manages before his voice breaks on a sob.

“Oh, honey,” his mother says, sounding close to tears herself. “Do you need us to come over? We can be there in half an hour.”

“I, I don’t know,” he says. “I expect I’ll be busy all day, I don’t know—” His phone beeps; he pulls it from his ear and looks at it. “That’s Josef; we probably have to do damage control all day. I have to take this.”

“Go,” his father tells him. “Don’t you spend a second worrying about us, alright? Just let us know if you need us.”

“I love you,” Chris says. They chorus their love back to him, and with a shaking finger he switches calls.

“Josef,” he starts, and then his voice breaks. “Josef, I’m so sorry—”

“Hush now, child,” Josef tells him, his voice devastatingly kind. “You’ve done nothing to be sorry for.” Chris is barely holding it together; another sob escapes him but he shoves the rest back down. “Are you alright?” Josef asks him. “Are you in danger?”

“I— No, I’m not in any danger,” Chris says. He’s still in bed, fingers white-knuckling around his duvet. “I’m safe.”

“Good. Now, I’m going to come get you in my car, and we’ll go to my office, and we’ll sort this out, alright?” Josef sounds firm, but still so, so kind. “This is not the end of the world, Chris. This is just a hiccup.”

“Doesn’t feel like a hiccup,” Chris confesses, staring at his clenched knuckles.

“That’s because you’re in the middle of it. But we’ll get through it. Just hang tight until I get there. See if you can eat something.”

Chris manages a piece of toast, and then opens Nadja’s messages. She’s messaged their group chat with Mat.

_Mat, Nadja_

_ >> N: Oh god _

_ >> N: Chris, honey, I just heard _

_ >> N: Are you okay? _

_ >> N: You’re probably busy, or still asleep _

_ >> N: Call me if you need me _

_ >> N: I love you so much _

_Josef’s on his way to pick me up for damage control << _

_Barely keeping it together << _

_ >> N: Oh honey _

_ >> N: Josef’s a good egg, he’ll take care of you _

_ >> N: Can I do anything? _

_Not yet << _

_I’ll keep you posted? << _

_ >> N: Please do _

_ >> N: I love you so much _

_Love you too << _

Mat must still be asleep, Chris reflects as he opens Instagram.

_Jordy_

_ >> I am so sorry _

_ >> I swear this wasn’t me _

_No, don’t worry, I know << _

_Are you okay? << _

_ >> Oh, I’m fine _

_ >> I’m totally out everywhere already, it’s not possible to out me more than I already am _

_ >> My company may not be thrilled that I hooked up on a business trip, but we’re coming up on busy season and they need me _

_ >> Plus, and this is a little selfish, several major sports news organizations gendered me correctly _

_Silver linings << _

_ >> Sorry, I know that’s crap of me _

_No, it’s genuinely good << _

_I would hate it if they hadn’t << _

_ >> You have a good heart _

_ >> Anything I can do? _

_Do me a favor and don’t take any interviews? << _

_ >> Chris, I know you don’t know me that well but I would never _

_Right << _

_Sorry << _

_Hell of a morning << _

_ >> It’s okay _

_Isn’t it past midnight in America? << _

_ >> West Coast. It’s only 10pm _

_ >> I’ll keep my trap shut, I promise _

_ >> Good luck _

_Thanks << _

Josef rings his bell just as he’s finishing up with Jordy. Chris buzzes him in and then paces in the entryway until he knocks on the door.

As soon as he’s through, Josef sweeps Chris into a hug. It almost severs the last threads Chris has over his self-control, but he takes several deep breaths and manages to keep hold of himself. Josef puts his hands on Chris’ arms and looks him in the eye. “This is not the end of you,” he says solemnly. “Not unless you want it to be.” Chris swallows, brushes a tear away, and nods. “Let’s go,” Josef says. “We have work to do.”

Josef has an old-school conference phone hidden under a stack of paper in his office, and he uses it to set up a three-way call with Chris’ manager and Josef’s contract PR person. “Alright,” he says, settling back into his chair. “How bad is it?”

Chris’ manager starts. “We’ve lost three major sponsors so far,” she says, voice even and professional. “You don’t have to get a job, _yet,_ and the Worlds tickets and fees are already paid for, but unless they crawl back over the summer, you’ll be flying coach next year.”

“Alright,” Josef says. “That’s workable. Not ideal, but workable.”

“The real good news is, I just got off the phone with a representative from the SSF, and they’re fully behind you.” Chris lets out a long breath, some of the tension in his body relaxing in a rush. “You’re their big moneymaker now that Lambiel’s out of the game, and apparently that’s enough to keep them playing nicely. I wouldn’t start down the coke-and-hookers route, but as long as you stay in line, you’ll have their support.”

“Not my style,” Chris manages. Josef gives him an encouraging nod.

“There’s already been a big social media pushback from your fan base against the website that broke the story for violating your privacy,” his manager goes on, “and most of what we’re seeing has been supportive. The ISU’s been quiet, but your fans are, for the most part, still your fans.”

“Unfortunately,” the PR consultant says, “we do have to pander to the ISU, and we all know how conservative it is as an organization. I’ve got a statement all written up for you to put on Facebook and Instagram that will hopefully appease them. Sending it to your email now.”

Chris checks his phone, and a second later an email appears.

_First off, I want to thank everyone for their support in this trying time. My fans are the world to me, and I never want to let you down._

_The story that broke early this morning was a flagrant violation of my privacy. My one desire has always been to skate, and that is what I will continue to focus on. I apologize for the distraction this story has caused._

_My focus will remain on doing my best to represent my country at the World Championships. Please continue to show me your support, as you always have._

Chris is shaking his head before he’s finished reading it. “Can we take the apology out?”

“Apologies for the distraction are a standard part of any post-scandal statement,” the PR man says. “The ISU will expect it.”

Remembering Josef’s words on the phone this morning, Chris says, “I’ve done nothing to apologize for.”

“I’m not saying you have,” the man counters. “But you still have to kiss a little ass here.”

Chris looks at Josef, appealing to him. “Josef, please don’t make me apologize for this,” he says quietly.

Josef gives him a sharp nod. “You heard the man,” he says. “No apology.”

The PR man sighs. “Alright, I’ll redraft it. Any other notes?”

“Just one,” Chris says. “Can we actually say the words ‘I’m gay’?”

“You want to?” The man sounds surprised.

Chris nods. “If I’m going to be out, I want to be out properly. I’m gay, and I’m not ashamed of that.”

“You’re making my job more difficult than it has to be,” the man gripes.

“That’s why I pay you,” Josef says sharply. “Make it happen.”

There’s a revised statement in his email three minutes later. “That’s better,” Chris says. “I like this one.”

“Good. Get it on your Facebook and Instagram as soon as possible, then send me your passwords. I’ll monitor the comments and delete anything overtly hostile. If we can bully the SSF into putting out a statement on your behalf too, so much the better.

“Now,” the PR man says, his voice changing tone a little bit. “This other man in the photographs. Is he going to be a problem?”

“No,” Chris says. “I’ve spoken with him and he’s promised not to do any interviews or anything.”

“And you trust him?”

“I do,” Chris confirms.

“Alright, but if he starts making trouble I’m going to need everything you have on him.”

“Thank you, Jacob,” Josef says. “Anything else?”

“That’s it for now.”

“Christina?”

“I’ll keep monitoring things, and see what I can do to stop us from bleeding any more money,” his manager says.

“Good.” Josef nods decisively. “I trust both of you. Chris and I will focus on the skating from here on out.” He hangs up and looks at Chris. “You did well,” he tells him.

Chris drops his face into his hands for a moment, shoulders shaking.

“You’re booked for private ice time today,” Josef says. “Do you still want it?”

_“Yes,”_ Chris says fervently. He’s itching to get out onto the ice, to move and work out some of the anguish he’s barely keeping at bay.

“Then get out there,” Josef says. “No goals for today, just do what you have to do. Don’t push yourself,” he adds as Chris picks up his skate bag and stands. “No point injuring yourself.”

“Yes, Coach,” Chris says. Josef gives him another nod and he heads out to the ice.

Chris works himself to the bone that day, jumping and spinning and dancing until the world seems a smaller, quieter place than it did when he woke up. Josef drives him back home afterward, and he carries the peace from the ice through his shower, until he’s settling onto the couch with some dinner.

He’s almost forgotten about his texts from Viktor, but another one comes in as he finishes up his meal. Taking a deep breath, he swipes it open.

_Viktor_

_ >> Chris, call me as soon as you get this _

_ >> Okay, you’re probably busy, but call me as soon as you can _

_ >> Chris. Call me _

Chris manages a small smile and pulls up his number. Time zones be damned; this is an emergency.

Viktor answers on the third ring. “How bad is it?” he asks as soon as he picks up.

“It’s not great,” Chris admits. “The SSF is behind me, but I’ve lost three big sponsors.”

“I’ll fix that,” Viktor says dismissively. “Just tell me who dropped you and I’ll have them back to you by the end of summer.”

Chris laughs woodenly. “Viktor, even you can’t do that.”

“Yes I can,” Viktor insists. “Get me a list and I’ll sort it.”

“Fine,” Chris says, giving in. “Fine, I’ll get you a list.”

“Now, Christophe Giacometti, listen to me very carefully.”

“I’m listening.”

_“You’re not allowed to retire.”_

Chris laughs again, a little more incredulously this time. “I really don’t think that’s your call, Viktor.”

“It’s as much my call as it is yours,” Viktor says, making Chris snort. “It’s my career on the line as well as yours.”

“Viktor.” Chris rubs his nose with his fingers. “You could have a perfectly splendid career without me half a step behind you.”

“Not true,” Viktor says. “I need you in this with me. You can’t bow out now and abandon me.”

“You really mean it, don’t you?” Chris asks, a little wonderingly. “You really don’t think you could succeed without me in the game too.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Chris,” Viktor says firmly. “You’re not allowed to retire until I do.”

“I love you too, Viktor.” Chris lets his head thud down on the couch cushion behind his neck. “I’m not retiring,” he says quietly. “I’m not done yet.”

“Good.” Viktor sounds equal parts commanding and relieved. “I expect you to give me your best at Worlds.”

“I expect your best too,” Chris says.

It’s only when he’s sinking towards sleep that night that he realizes he hasn’t heard from Mat all day. _There’s probably a good explanation,_ Chris tells himself drowsily. _He’ll be in touch soon._


	21. twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris sits in the kiss and cry, able to do nothing but gape at the scoreboard as his world comes tumbling down around him.
> 
> Sure, his short program score seemed a little low a few days ago, but that was nothing. Judges are as fickle as children, and there’s no doubt he’s a little off his game a bare week after being forcibly, publicly outed. Whispers and stares have followed him ever since he arrived at Worlds. And, of course, Mat’s been dodging him the whole time. So sure, he’s a little out of it. A third-place finish after the short programs is probably the best he could have hoped for, all things considered.

Chris sits in the kiss and cry, able to do nothing but gape at the scoreboard as his world comes tumbling down around him.

Sure, his short program score seemed a little low a few days ago, but that was nothing. Judges are as fickle as children, and there’s no doubt he’s a little off his game a bare week after being forcibly, publicly outed. Whispers and stares have followed him ever since he arrived at Worlds. And, of course, Mat’s been dodging him the whole time. So sure, he’s a little out of it. A third-place finish after the short programs is probably the best he could have hoped for, all things considered.

But clearly the only reason he wasn’t lower in the rankings is that he landed all his technical components and didn’t give the judges an excuse. Because in his free a few minutes ago, he fell on the quad flip, and now they’ve swarmed on him like sharks, taking a much larger bite out of his final score than the error deserves.

He’s not going to win. He’s not even going to  _ medal. _

Time goes a little blurry after that. The next thing he’s aware of is Viktor, his hands cupping Chris’ face as he says something fast and urgent that Chris can’t quite make out. Chris shakes his head and knocks him away, pushing past him, desperate to  _ get out. _

There’s a microphone in his face the next time he’s aware of his surroundings, and he hears something about  _ is this the end? _ “They’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he snarls, before Josef’s hand closes around his shoulder and pulls him away.

He doesn’t come to again until he’s in the shower in his hotel room, hot water pounding his back. He buries his face in his hands and lets out a little scream, before figuring out where in the cleaning process he is and finishing the job.

Once he’s dried off, he lies on his back on the bed for a long, long time, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think. Eventually, he sighs and reaches for his phone.

He bypasses his Google Alerts—he really doesn’t want to see what the media is saying about him right now. Instead, he looks up Viktor, searching for a recording of his performance. It’s the only thing Chris regrets not staying for.

**_“Disgusting, shameful homophobia that should have no place in this sport,” World Champion Viktor Nikiforov spits in post-win interview, referring to his long-time rival’s scoring by the judges._ **

Chris laughs at that, a hollow thing that somehow still makes him feel better. He screencaps the headline and sends it to Viktor.

_ Viktor _

_ You’re going to get yourself thrown out of this sport << _

_ >> Let them try _

_ >> I’ll burn this whole sport down before I leave it _

_ And to think, you didn’t think we were friends << _

_ Thank you << _

_ It means a lot << _

_ >> It’s disgusting _

_ >> But I’ll sort it _

_ >> You’re still not allowed to retire _

_ Don’t worry << _

_ Like hell am I going out like that << _

_ >> Good _

_ >> You’re a fighter _

_ >> I appreciate that about you _

_ Where did I end up placing? << _

_ >> Fifth _

_ >> The bronze medallist was almost in tears _

_ >> He knew he didn’t deserve it as well as the rest of us did _

_ I’m sure he’s a fine skater << _

_ >> You’re a better person than I am _

_ I think you’re a lovely person << _

They were supposed to stay two more days for the gala and banquet, but Josef gets Chris on a flight back to Switzerland the next day. “I’ll stay and do damage control with the sponsors,” Josef tells him, putting him into a cab to the airport. “You go home and rest.”

“I’m not running,” Chris says. “This is a tactical retreat.” Josef pats his cheek and sends him off with a wave.

He spends the next few days holed up in his apartment, eating food that is not approved even for his off-season, and texting with Viktor and Nadja. To his surprise, Vahe calls one night as he’s halfway through a pint of peanut butter ice cream. They’ve kept in touch since the Olympics, mainly through Instagram and the occasional call when their schedules allow. Chris greets him with the first real joy he’s felt since his outing.

“I figured your calls of support might be tapering off by this point, so I waited,” Vahe says. His low rumble of a voice is inexpressibly soothing to Chris’ ears. “How are you holding up, my dear?”

Chris sighs. “Shittily,” he admits. “It feels like I got punched in the face and then kicked when I hit the floor.”

“I was watching live,” Vahe says. “I nearly threw my phone through the wall when they announced your score.”

“You still watch my events?” Chris asks, touched.

“Of course,” Vahe says. “You would watch mine if I hadn’t retired, right?”

“True,” Chris allows. “Still. Thank you.”

“Of course.” They lapse into silence for a few moments, before Vahe says, “You’re not giving up, are you?”

Chris sighs again, heavier. “I don’t know. I said in the moment that I didn’t want to go out like that, but if they’re going to score me that way for the rest of my career, what’s the point in continuing?”

“You’ll just have to make them score you better,” Vahe says. “Give them no foothold for their bigotry.”

“Easier said than done.”

“I never said it would be easy,” Vahe says. “But if you still have love for skating in your heart, it’s what you’ll have to do.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Vahe hums. “Chris, darling, is there anything I can do? You sound so lifeless; I hate to hear you in this much pain. Not that I blame you, of course, but if there’s anything I can do to help, I hope you wouldn’t hesitate to ask.”

Chris laughs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Nothing much to be done, I’m afraid. Unless you feel like flying to Switzerland and giving me a good fucking, like the old days,” he adds wryly.

“If I thought you meant it, I would be there in a heartbeat,” Vahe says. “We were quite good at that.”

“We were  _ very _ good at that, and I’m not likely to have any sex until December,” Chris says, not a little bitter. “I can hardly go out and pull, now that I’ve been publicly outed, and my only local lover hasn’t contacted me since the story broke.”  _ That _ hurts to say, enough that he regrets saying it as soon as it’s out of his mouth.

“Then he doesn’t deserve you,” Vahe says firmly. “Keep me in your back pocket, okay? If it gets bad, I’ll take a sightseeing trip to Switzerland. I mean it.”

“You’re too good to me,” Chris says, a little too earnestly.

Vahe tuts. “A vacation to a beautiful country over the summer to make love to one of the finest lovers I’ve ever had the pleasure to know is hardly a hardship, Chris. I’d do more for your friendship than that.”

Chris brushes away a tear. If his voice sounds a little choked up for the rest of their conversation, Vahe pretends not to notice.

Chris skips Josef’s traditional post-season party, opting instead to book as much private ice time as he can. Josef doesn’t say anything about it, just spots him in silence and lets him be. He has a phone meeting with Christina, his manager; Josef had managed to keep his remaining sponsors from fleeing at his fifth-place finish, but Chris’ next season is going to involve a lot of belt-tightening. He has savings, he’ll be fine, but unless one of his lost sponsors comes crawling back, it’s going to be a very different experience from this season.

One day, a week and a half after Worlds, Chris has had enough. He finishes up a block of ice time and settles into the bleachers to catch his breath. He hadn’t done any jumps for the last fifteen minutes of practice, so Josef is in his office; Chris is alone when he picks up his phone and opens the neglected text window with Mat. His few feeble attempts at reaching out stare at him, unanswered, from his screen.

_ Mat _

_ Okay, this is your last chance to hop off the train to Asshole and start being a decent person << _

_ >> I don’t know what you mean _

_ Don’t play cute now << _

_ You’ve been avoiding me ever since I was outed << _

_ >> Not much to say _

_ How about ‘I’m sorry this happened to you’? << _

_ >> I think we should stop seeing each other _

_ Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear << _

_ Is it because you stopped having feelings for me, or is just that I’m toxic now? << _

_ If it’s the former, you could at least pretend to still want to be friends << _

_ >> I have to think of my career, Chris _

_ >> You know how heavily my dancing with Nadja relies on the illusion of romance _

_ And god forbid a seemingly straight man comfort a homo after he’s publicly outed << _

_ >> I’m not your boyfriend, Chris _

_ >> I never have been _

_ No << _

_ But you were my friend << _

_ Or at least, you acted like you were << _

_ >> So because I don’t want to fuck you anymore, I’m not your friend? _

_ Don’t twist my words << _

_ >> It’s not like it ever mattered to you anyway _

_ And what is that supposed to mean? << _

_ >> Clearly you had no trouble filling your bed with anyone who passed by, despite claiming to have feelings for me _

_ >> So it’s not like the loss of me in your bed will be particularly devastating to you _

_ No << _

_ No << _

_ Fuck you << _

_ I offered you exclusivity << _

_ *Twice*, if you’ll recall << _

_ And you turned me down both times << _

_ You don’t get to turn around and accuse me of, what? Cheating? << _

_ STOP typing << _

_ When you have a proper apology, come back to me << _

_ Until then, fuck off << _

Chris locks his phone angrily and slams it down onto the bleachers, his other hand coming up to cover his face as the tears come. It starts as a trickle, but soon all the crying he hasn’t done since he was outed comes screaming out of his body where it’s been lurking in wait and he’s sobbing, hysterical and loud. He clutches his hair in his hands and shakes and cries, able only to be grateful that the rink is empty.

Not entirely empty—at some point, he feels a body settle onto the bleachers next to him, and he’s pulled into Josef’s arms, his coach’s familiar cologne filling his nose. Josef holds him until it’s done, until he’s cried out, limp and wrung dry and so, so tired.

“There we go,” Josef says when Chris finally quietens. “I’ve been wondering where that was.”

Chris laughs wetly and pulls out of his arms, sitting back up. “Better late than never?”

“You needed the release.” Josef puts a hand on the back of Chris’ neck and turns him to face him. “Chris,” he says seriously. “I need you to be honest with me. Can you do that?”

“Okay,” Chris breathes.

“With the support systems you have in place—with me, and your friends, and your family—do you think you can get through this with just us? Or do you need some help?”

Chris feels his eyes fill with tears again. “I think...” he starts, trailing off before saying again, “I think I need help, Josef.” Another sob escapes him and he covers his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Okay,” Josef says, squeezing the back of his neck. “That’s okay, Chris, I promise. I’ll find you someone to talk to. Someone who specializes in gay athletes. And you’ll talk to them, and you’ll talk to me, and you’ll talk to your friends and your family, and together we will get you through this, okay? I promise you, we will get you to the other side of this.”

“Okay,” Chris says. Pinned as he is, his coach’s eyes boring into him, he can’t do anything but believe him. “Okay.”

Josef gives him a final smile and a pat and takes his hand away. “Now, I have some news from Christina I said I’d pass along to you,” he says. “It’ll drive Jacob insane but I think you’ll find it good news.”

Chris wipes his nose with his hand. “Tell me.”

“ESPN called,” Josef says solemnly. “They want you for the Body Issue.”

Despite everything, Chris hears himself laugh.


	22. twenty-one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris goes home for a few days, sleeping in his childhood bedroom and letting his father make him meals. Nadja texts him incessantly, aware that something has happened between him and Mat, but he’s not quite willing to tell her the details just yet. It’s still too raw.
> 
> Josef gets him a list of therapists and he calls them down the line, having preliminary phone conversations with each one. He stops when he gets to Dr. Kavanaugh, an American woman with a brassy voice who stops him in his tracks by asking, “In your own words, why are we speaking?”

Chris goes home for a few days, sleeping in his childhood bedroom and letting his father make him meals. Nadja texts him incessantly, aware that something has happened between him and Mat, but he’s not quite willing to tell her the details just yet. It’s still too raw.

Josef gets him a list of therapists and he calls them down the line, having preliminary phone conversations with each one. He stops when he gets to Dr. Kavanaugh, an American woman with a brassy voice who stops him in his tracks by asking, “In your own words, why are we speaking?”

Chris stutters to a halt. “Because...” He swallows and tries again. “Something bad happened to me. Two. Two bad things happened to me, in quick succession, and I need help dealing with them.”

“What happened to you?”

He screws his eyes closed. “I was publicly outed at my job, which means potentially the whole world knows about my sexuality. And the man I, I care about, treated me like I was toxic afterward and broke my heart.” The words are like nails in his throat, but there’s a surprising relief that settles around him once they’re said.

“Okay.” Her voice is raspy but calm. “And what do you want to do next?”

He hasn’t really thought about that. The whole time since his outing has just been focused on damage control; he hasn’t had time to think about what to do  _ next. _ “I just... I want to feel like myself again.”

“What would make you feel like yourself?”

“Skating.” The answer will always be skating. “But I’ve been skating the whole time.”

“Okay,” she says again. “So we need to get you skating in a way that will make you feel more like yourself than the skating you’ve been doing since it happened. Why don’t you think of some things you could try that might do that?”

The conversation moves on from there, but that notion sticks with him—how can he skate differently in a way that will make him feel like himself again? What can he do on the ice that he hasn’t been doing?

He keeps seeing Dr. Kavanaugh, weekly sessions over Skype, and in late May he feels comfortable enough to unlock his phone, scroll to the beginning of his last conversation with Mat, and pass it to Nadja while they’re eating lunch. Her face grows solemn and angry as she reads, and when she carefully passes it back to him, her lips are pursed.

“Are you still going to be able to skate with him?” he asks, worried.

She frowns. “I can skate with anyone. I’m a professional. What I may not do is ever speak to him again. But if you’re unhappy with me keeping on with him—”

“I’m not,” Chris says in a hurry. “Losing his career isn’t a natural consequence of being a jerk; and anyway, I’m not ready for  _ you _ to be done yet, if you’re not, and you’d have a hard time finding a new partner in time for next season.”

Nadja stabs at her salad with a little more force than is necessary. “Just tell me if that changes,” she says. “I hereby absolve you of the need to come to any of our skates until he fixes things with you.”

“Thanks,” Chris says. “I promise to watch them all on Youtube; I just don’t know if I can handle seeing him in person.”

“Understandable.” She takes his hand. “Are you okay?” she asks, serious and caring. “I know the thing with him meant a lot to you.”

Chris shrugs. “I’m in therapy now,” he offers. “It’s helping. It still hurts, and I’m still angry, but I’ll be okay.” He squeezes her hand, and she smiles reassuringly at him. “I might get a cat,” he says. The thought has been on his mind a lot lately. He’s been feeling the need for more touch than usual since everything went down, and he doesn’t relish the thought of going back to a totally empty apartment once he leaves his childhood home again.

Nadja lights up. “Oh my god, you  _ have _ to let me come with you,” she says excitedly. “There’s a shelter near my house I donate to monthly; I’ll take you and we’ll find you the perfect kitten.”

“Okay,” he says, grinning. They make plans to visit the shelter the next week. Chris goes home and orders a ton of cat supplies and toys on Amazon, just in case they find the right cat.

To his surprise, a week after he moves back home with a tiny white furball he names Genevieve, his manager, Christina, calls him. “Good news,” she says briskly when he picks up. “Two of your errant sponsors have come back.”

“Wow,” he says, scratching under Genevieve’s chin. “How’d you swing that?”

“I didn’t,” she says frankly. “I don’t know why they came back. But I didn’t want to ask too many questions. I’ll send the paperwork over to you to sign tomorrow; send it back with the courier and we’ll get it done. They’re both better deals than you originally had, too; no need to fly coach next season after all.”

Once they hang up, he texts Viktor.

_ Viktor _

_ What did you do? << _

_ >> Oh good, your sponsors are back? _

_ Two of them << _

_ With better offers than I had originally << _

_ >> I told you I’d take care of it _

_ What did you do? << _

_ >> Never you mind _

_ >> Just use that extra money to buy me dinner next time we’re together _

_ Absolutely << _

_ Thank you << _

_ >> Don’t mention it _

Chris Googles for a while afterward, searching out Viktor’s team’s press releases, and after a couple of hours of getting tangled in corporate org charts, he thinks he’s figured out what Viktor did. It looks like he went two companies back from every sponsor that dropped Chris, and then cancelled all his sponsorships with every subsidiary of those parent companies. Within the next few days, he quietly re-signs with the ones that came back to Chris. Chris doesn’t quite know what to do with that level of devotion from the other skater, but he resolves to make it worth Viktor’s while.

He’s starting to get an idea.

“Chris,” Josef booms the next time he has private ice time. Sweating, Chris skates over to the boards and takes a long pull from his water bottle. “Do you want to tell me what you’re doing?” Josef says more quietly.

“I’m skating,” Chris says.

“You’ve been drilling triple Lutzes all day.” Josef’s eyes are boring into him.

Chris shrugs. “It’s good to drill the jumps I already have.”

“Mhm,” Josef says. “Do you want to tell me why every single one of them has been overrotated since you started today?”

Chris squirms. “Damn it, lad,” Josef snaps. “You can’t try and invent new figure skating jumps without running it by me first.”

Chris fiddles with his water bottle. “I was afraid you’d try and stop me.”

“Chris.” Josef pauses until Chris looks at him. “When have I ever tried to stop you doing something you wanted to do?”

He’s right. “I want it, Josef,” Chris says, his voice low. “I  _ want _ it.”

“Then let’s get it,” Josef says simply. “Properly, and safely. I take it you want it done in secret?”

“I want to surprise people,” Chris says, thinking of Viktor. “I don’t want them to see it coming.”

“Okay,” Josef says. “So we’ll do it quietly.” He puts a hand on Chris’ shoulder. “You can do this,” he tells him firmly.

“I know I can,” Chris says. “Thanks.”

“Back to it,” Josef orders. “Focus on getting more speed in the entrance, and more height in the jump. You’ll need both.”

“Yes, Coach.” Chris salutes him and skates back out.

He lands his first clean quad Lutz in mid-July, and to celebrate, he calls Vahe. They compromise and meet in Prague for a whirlwind five-day vacation, sightseeing during the day and fucking like wild animals at night. It turns out Chris, with a little extra prep work, can still take Vahe’s cock, and the first night they’re together Vahe puts him on his knees on the bed and plows him remorselessly, until his face is mashed into the sheets, ass in the air, begging and crying out. They get a noise complaint from the neighbors. Chris has no regrets.

Vahe, delightfully, has brought with him a set of black silk restraints and a blindfold, and Chris learns a lot about himself during the hour Vahe sets aside to torment him while he can’t do anything about it, lashed to the bed with his eyes covered, able only to writhe and moan and beg. Chris has to kiss him for another half an hour after Vahe finally lets him come, Vahe’s big hands caressing all over his still-sensitive skin, before he feels able to tentatively stand and wobble to the bathroom for a shower.

“Did this help?” Vahe asks on their last day, their suitcases packed and waiting by the door to go to the airport. “Not that it wasn’t lovely, but did it help?”

“Mmm, immeasurably,” Chris murmurs, wrapping his arms around Vahe’s neck and pulling him in for a long, deep kiss. It’s true; between the sex and the skating, Chris is feeling safer and more settled in his own skin than he has since before Worlds. “You’re wonderful,” he says against Vahe’s lips. “I don’t know how I would have gotten through this summer without you.”

Vahe casually squeezes his ass, making them both grin. “Chris, darling, it was absolutely my pleasure.”

Chris’ programs are set by early August, with a spot in the free program where he could do either a quad Salchow or a quad Lutz, depending on how he’s feeling. He and Josef have managed to keep his attempts to themselves; Chris hasn’t even told Nadja, keeping the possibility of landing it at a competition tucked tight to his chest to keep him warm.

He has a wrench of a time choosing what to do his exhibition skate to, but in the end settles on “Bad Reputation.” He puts what he’d cobbled together for his other choice, “Single Ladies,” on Instagram, and receives floods of  _ omg who broke your heart _ comments, which warm him in a different, angrier way.

He puts the video up on a Thursday, and receives a call Saturday night. Looking at the caller ID, he lets it ring out, settling on the couch with Genevieve to prepare himself; a few minutes later, he gets the notification that Mat has left a voicemail. Bracing himself, he turns it on. The sound of Mat’s voice hits him like a physical blow.

“I won’t waste your time,” Mat says. “I’ve been doing a lot of research, ever since I woke up the day after, on how to formulate a proper apology. Everything I’ve found says it has to have three parts: stating what you did in full, without hiding from it; expressing sincere remorse; and saying what you’re going to do to make it right. I’ll be honest with you: I don’t know how to make it right. I’ve been wracking my brain for months, trying to figure out how I could possibly make it right, but I haven’t figured it out yet. But I didn’t want to keep you waiting any longer for the first two parts of my apology.

“First, what I did: I let you down. I let my fear of scandal and of losing points and of bigotry drive me to hurt you, when I should have been there to support you instead. You were the best thing in my life, and instead of treating you like it, I acted like a coward. I  _ was _ a coward, and when you needed me to step up, I let you fall, and I blamed you for it.

“Now for the second part.” Mat’s voice goes a little wobbly. “God, I— Chris, I don’t even know how to  _ begin. _ I’m so, so sorry, Chris, I’m so sorry, I—” He cuts himself off. Chris can hear him taking a few deep breaths, and when he resumes talking, his voice is steadier. “It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done,” he says. “I think it’s the worst thing I’m capable of doing. And I regret it, Chris. I regret it so much, and if I could undo it, I would do anything. I, I  _ hate _ mys—” Another pause, another series of deep breaths. Chris is crying steadily now, and Genevieve jumps onto his shoulder and butts her little face into his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Mat says. “That’s all I can really say. I’m so, so sorry, Chris. You deserved better from me.

“I still don’t know how I’m going to make it right. But I  _ will. _ You don’t have to forgive me, you don’t have to ever talk to me again, but I  _ will _ make things right, I promise. I’ll try not to keep you waiting long. I’m sorry.” The voicemail ends. Chris buries his face in one hand, the other scratching Genevieve under her chin. She purrs, pressing against his head, and he takes a few heaving, gulping breaths and gets himself under control.

_ Mat _

_ Thank you << _

_ I’ll be waiting << _

_ >> I won’t let you down again _


	23. twenty-two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Assignments come out not long after Mat’s voicemail; Chris is scheduled for Skate Canada and Bompard. Josef scrutinizes the judge listings for each event and comes to Chris with a recommendation.
> 
> “I say hold onto the Lutz for France,” he says, talking to Chris over the boards towards the end of practice one day. “You won’t need it in Canada; the competition isn’t as fierce, and I know most of the judges personally. They’re a good, fair lot who won’t underscore you on bigotry alone. Save the Lutz for when you need it.”

Assignments come out not long after Mat’s voicemail; Chris is scheduled for Skate Canada and Bompard. Josef scrutinizes the judge listings for each event and comes to Chris with a recommendation.

“I say hold onto the Lutz for France,” he says, talking to Chris over the boards towards the end of practice one day. “You won’t need it in Canada; the competition isn’t as fierce, and I know most of the judges personally. They’re a good, fair lot who won’t underscore you on bigotry alone. Save the Lutz for when you need it.”

Chris bites his lip. “You really think I won’t need it?” he asks, just to be sure.

“I really do,” Josef confirms. “You can clean up in Canada without it, and it gives you extra time to drill before Paris.”

“I could use the extra practice time,” Chris allows. He’s landing the Lutz about seventy percent of the time in drills, but only about half the time in the actual program.

“Plus,” Josef says, and taps at a name on the judges list for the Bompard. Chris leans forward and feels his stomach twist. “Recognize him?” Josef asks, and Chris does. It’s one of the judges from the panel at Worlds.

“Alright,” he says. “That settles it. Flip for Canada, Lutz for France. I can do that.”

“Good,” Josef says. “How do the rest of the programs feel?”

“I want to make a change to my step sequence in the short,” Chris says, and they spend the rest of his ice time refining little details.

Once again, he and Viktor aren’t scheduled for any Grand Prix events together, barring the Final if they both get in. Viktor is set to finish early, scheduled for Skate America and the Cup of China; he’ll be done by the first week of November. Chris gets a niggling little idea that he subsequently can’t shake, and worries over it for a week before finally breaking.

_ Viktor _

_ Hey << _

_ Any chance you can get to Paris? << _

_ I think you’ll want to see the Bompard in person << _

_ >> What are you planning _

_ :D << _

_ >> What are you PLANNING _

_ Who says I’m planning anything? << _

_ I just think you’ll want to be there << _

_ >> Christophe Giacometti tell me what you’re planning immediately _

_ I thought you loved surprises << _

_ Be there if you can << _

_ >> Ugh _

_ >> I’ll work on Yakov _

_ >> It’ll be an easier sell if you TELL ME WHAT YOU’RE PLANNING _

_ I have every faith in your persuasive abilities << _

To his mingled delight and dread, Mat and Nadja are also scheduled to be in Canada with him. He and Nadja have a fashion show in early October to show off their costumes to each other. “God, you’re stunning,” he tells her as she spins in her free dance dress. She beams at him. “What’s your theme this year?”

Her face goes a little funny. “Regret,” she says carefully. Chris’ stomach twists and she frowns sympathetically at him. “I’m sorry,” she says, putting a hand on his arm.

He musters up a smile. “It’s okay,” he says. “I already know he regrets it. Art is allowed to imitate life.”

“On the upside, since he’s clearly the one doing the regretting, it means I get to look like a snack,” she says, a remarkable stab at levity.

“You always look like a snack,” Chris tells her. She laughs, and the conversation moves on.

Nadja had kindly looked after Genevieve while he was in Prague with Vahe, and she’s agreed to do it again while he’s in Paris for the Bompard, but he has to track down an actual cat sitter for Canada, since she’ll be there with him. He goes to his vet for recommendations, and winds up cutting a third pair of keys for a vet tech who agrees to look after her for him. He feels better knowing there’s someone taking care of her who will know what to do if something goes wrong.

Chris kisses Genevieve goodbye on October 24th and Josef drives them both to the airport. “Are you nervous, lad?” Josef asks, looking over at him in the passenger seat.

“No,” Chris says honestly. “I feel ready. Prepared.”

“Good,” Josef says. patting him on the knee. “You are prepared. I’m very, very proud of what you’ve accomplished this summer, and I have every faith in you for the season.”

“Awwww,” Chris teases. “Are you going soft on me, old man?”

“Hush, child,” Josef says primly, and Chris laughs.

Nadja lands in Windsor the morning of the 25th; Chris knows the exact moment she can turn her phone back on, because his buzzes with a text.

_ Nadja _

_ >> Dinner???? _

_ >> I need my dose of Chris to get me through _

_ <3 <3 <3 << _

_ Not sure I’m up for anything more public than room service << _

_ >> Come to mine _

_ >> Dinner on me _

_ On your sponsors, you mean? << _

_ >> You know me SO well _

_ I’ll be there with bells on << _

_ 7pm? << _

_ >> Whenever you like _

_ >> What is time _

The two of them stay up irresponsibly late, eating hotel chicken and salads and doing their traditional tallying up of their competitors’ base scores. The night ends with Chris’ head in Nadja’s lap, her fingers passing softly through his hair. “I hate knowing he’s in the same hotel as me,” Chris confesses, made honest by jet lag and the presence of his best friend. “I can handle the same city, but the same building is just too much.”

“I know, love,” she murmurs. “I promise you, it will get easier.”

“That’s what my therapist says.” Chris bites his lip. “But knowing it will get easier doesn’t help me  _ now.” _

“Well,” Nadja says, “for now, I’ll happily play buffer, and he knows good and damn well that he has to stay out of your way. You may have to white-knuckle through being in the same building, but you’ll never have to be in the same room as him.”

“You know what the really fucked-up part is?” Chris asks, a mirthless laugh bubbling forth. “The thought of never being in the same room as him again is almost sadder.”

“Oh, honey,” she says, still stroking gently through his hair. Chris closes his eyes and tries to sit with the sadness, the way Dr. Kavanaugh has been trying to teach him. He sheds a few tears, back in his own room, but when he falls asleep, he’s almost at peace with it.

Men’s singles are up first, and random order puts Chris in the first group to skate. He’s careful to keep any hint of the quad Lutz out of his morning practice; Josef gives him an approving nod when it’s over. He warms up slowly and hugs Josef tight; he remembers that Nadja had mentioned a grueling training day planned for her and Mat, but none of it shakes the certainty, as he takes center ice, that somewhere, through some screen or other, Mat’s eyes are on him.

He  _ has _ to do well. He has to prove that the past seven months haven’t broken him.

His short program is about Mat. It had to be; he’d had nothing else in his head all summer. It’s anger and betrayal and heartbreak, strength and passion. He’s spent the past three months in therapy working on how to pull up those first, immediate feelings and harness them safely, without letting them take over again. As he sits in the kiss and cry after he’s done, looking at his scores, he reflects that he’ll have to tell Dr. Kavanaugh it worked.

“Well done, lad,” Josef says proudly, ruffling his hair and hugging his shoulders. “Well done indeed.” Chris beams at him.

In his hotel room that night, he flicks through the congratulatory texts from his parents, Nadja, and Vahe. Viktor’s is waiting for him when he wakes up in the morning, and he answers Chris’ reply immediately.

_ Viktor _

_ >> Was that what you were planning? _

_ Who says I’m planning anything? << _

_ But no << _

_ If I were planning something, I wouldn’t do it until France << _

_ Can you come? << _

_ >> I’m wearing Yakov down _

_ >> I think he’ll let me fly out for one of the events, and back home right away _

_ >> It’ll be hellish, so you better make it worth it _

_ >> So. Short or free? _

_ Free << _

_ >> Done _

_ Assuming you win Yakov over << _

_ >> You’ve never asked me for anything before _

_ >> I’m going to make this happen _

_ <3 << _

_ >> I really won’t have time for sex, though _

_ >> That’ll have to wait until the Final _

_ We’ll see about that << _

_ >> WHAT ARE YOU PLANNING _

Josef somehow finds him private ice time across town all day, so he can’t pull up Mat and Nadja’s short dance until that night. He follows all Dr. Kavanaugh’s instructions for self-care first: a long, hot shower, straight into his fluffiest bathrobe. His cat sitter has sent him a video of Genevieve that he saves for after, as a mood boost.

It’s still heart-wrenching to watch. Mat and Nadja really are the best in the game, and emotions pour from them like water, evident in every lift and line. He takes a minute to wipe his face, watches the video of Genevieve, and calls Nadja.

“You were stunning,” they both say together, and then laugh. “Seriously,” Chris says. “You’re amazing.

“I cried watching yours,” she confesses.

“Same.” Chris fiddles with the tie of his bathrobe. “To the point where I’m glad I wasn’t there in person.”

“The free dance will be easier,” she tells him. “It’s less... specific.”

“I’ll still save it for after I go.”

“That’s probably smart.”

The men’s free skate is second the next day, just after the free dance. Chris had texted Luca in June, asking for the most fuck-you gay song the man knew. Luca had replied with a smiley face and a song file, and Chris and Josef had built the skate around it. He’ll be more motivated at Paris, with the judge from Worlds watching, but he’s still angry enough at the ISU to pull off a rendition that nets him a gold medal by five full points.

“Nice to have you back,” the silver medallist, a skater Chris has seen a few times but doesn’t immediately have a name for, says to him on the podium.

“Thanks,” Chris says, grinning. “It’s good to be back.”

The reporters swarm him after the medal ceremony. “Nice comeback, Chris!” one says.

“I never went anywhere,” he says with a wink.

Another cuts right to the chase. “Chris, who was the other man in the photos?”

“Now why would I tell you that?” he drawls, raising an eyebrow. “I’d  _ so _ much prefer to keep all your attention on me.”

The reporters obligingly titter. “Does it feel good to be back on the podium?” someone else asks him.

“Better than you can imagine,” he says honestly. “And I intend to stay there.”

“Chris, who broke your heart?”

“Who says anyone broke my heart?”

The reporter laughs. “That “Single Ladies” dance you did seemed pretty pointed.”

“Well,” he says, shrugging. “Sometimes we all need a little Beyonce in our lives. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” His stomach is twisting, but he manages to keep his smile on his face.

Josef pulls him away after another couple of questions. “Well handled,” he murmurs in Chris’ ear as they leave the rink.

“Thanks.”

“I don’t just mean the interview,” Josef says. The hotel is a block away from the rink, and they step out into the bitter Ontario air and make their way towards it. “I mean this whole summer, this whole fiasco.”

Chris smiles at him. “I appreciate that.”

“I don’t know exactly what that boy did to you, but I bet he regrets it now.” Chris looks at him sharply, wracking his mind for when he might have given Mat away. Josef gives him a sideways smile. “I’ve known Mathieu Bieri since he was a boy, lad,” he says. “It doesn’t take a lot to put two and two together, for someone who knows you both as well as I do.”

Chris nods, looking down. “He does,” he says. “Regret it.” Josef pats him on the arm and they finish their walk in silence.

_ Viktor _

_ >> Nicely done on the gold _

_ >> Incidentally, Bieri looks more like a kicked puppy than ever this season _

_ I don’t want to talk about Mat << _

_ >> Want me to destroy his career? _

_ >> I bet I could do it _

_ NO << _

_ I already had to talk his dance partner down << _

_ Don’t you start too << _

_ >> Okay _

_ >> Offer’s on the table if you change your mind _

_ Did you text me just to offer to destroy someone who may or may have hurt me? << _

_ >> Not just that _

_ >> Yakov gave me the go-ahead, finally _

_ >> I’ll see you in Paris _


	24. twenty-three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris’ short program in Paris goes better than he could have hoped for. Once again he’s able to channel his emotions, pouring them all into his skating to earn himself a personal best and a small gold. He’s panting for breath by the time the music comes to a close, dripping sweat, but it’s worth it all to see the score flash on the board.
> 
> Josef pats him on the head and hustles him through the post-skate interviews. Thankfully, his performance seems to be drowning out last season’s scandal; no one asks him about the photographs, and only one reporter mentions him being gay at all. “I’ll take it,” he murmurs to Josef afterward.
> 
> “No one will ask you about your sexuality after your free,” Josef assures him. “They’ll have too many more important things to talk about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drumroll*

Chris’ short program in Paris goes better than he could have hoped for. Once again he’s able to channel his emotions, pouring them all into his skating to earn himself a personal best and a small gold. He’s panting for breath by the time the music comes to a close, dripping sweat, but it’s worth it all to see the score flash on the board.

Josef pats him on the head and hustles him through the post-skate interviews. Thankfully, his performance seems to be drowning out last season’s scandal; no one asks him about the photographs, and only one reporter mentions him being gay at all. “I’ll take it,” he murmurs to Josef afterward.

“No one will ask you about your sexuality after your free,” Josef assures him. “They’ll have too many more important things to talk about.”

He strips out of his costume in the hotel room, showers, and flops onto the bed to deal with his text messages. Nadja has sent him a string of exclamation points and crying emojis; to his surprise and amused delight, his father has done the same.

Viktor is already on a plane, set to land tomorrow evening; Chris skates again the day after. He won’t have a chance to see Viktor beforehand, as Josef has found him a private rink and ensured the discretion of the staff there for Chris to practice the Lutz, since he doesn’t want to give it away at public practice. Viktor’s flight out is at 2am after the free skate, but Chris rather expects Viktor will make the time to see him before he goes.

Assuming Chris can pull it off. He lands eighty percent of his Lutzes at private practice, and tempts fate by doing a few overrotated triples at the morning public ice time. But he’s still nervous, more nervous than he’s been before a competition in years. He has to deploy some of the calming techniques Dr. Kavanaugh has taught him and flip through his whole Genevieve album before he’s able to force any lunch down.

He checks Instagram to see that Viktor has posted a selfie from the bleachers, captioned _Tip-off from a friend that things might get wild today._ He likes the post and puts his phone away, shifting his focus to warming up. Oddly, knowing Viktor is in the audience helps calm him; his friend has come to see him, and Chris won’t let him down.

He’s in first going into the free, so he’s set to skate last. Josef hugs him as the second-place skater leaves the ice. “You can do this,” he says in Chris’ ear. “Go make history.” Chris squeezes his coach, then swallows and goes out to center ice.

Chris has adjusted his starting pose for this competition. Instead of looking dead ahead, he’s turned to the side, making direct eye contact with the judges. As his eyes bore into the judge from Worlds, the man goes pale. Chris smirks to himself, satisfied, and then the music starts.

He and Josef were strategic in placing the Lutz in this program. It’s bounced around various places as they ironed out the details; they finally settled on just before the halfway mark—enough time to gain some confidence with other elements, but not in the second half, when he would be more tired. There’s a triple loop-double Salchow combination before it, and Chris nails it, landing with a flourish.

An Ina Bauer, a camel spin, and then the music builds to an angry crescendo, and there’s nothing left to do but swing into his entrance, push off the ice, and leap.

He does it perfectly. Four rotations that he can tell from the air are beautiful and precise; a picture-perfect landing. His ears are ringing even before he jumps, but as his skates hit the ice again and he doesn’t fall, he can still hear the crowd _roar_ in response. He throws himself straight into the choreography of his step sequence and dances like his life depends on it, biting down a wide grin.

He manages to keep his exultation in until the end of the program, but after he drops his final pose, he has to lift one fist into the air, cover his face with his other hand, and shout wordlessly in triumph. The applause is like nothing he’s ever heard before, and it goes on and on and on.

He scans the crowd for Viktor as he skates off the ice. Viktor’s silver hair is immediately identifiable, as he’s winkled a spot in the front row to watch. The other skater is out of his seat entirely, leaning over the rails with a look on his face like Chris has just offered him an entire cheesecake all to himself, excitement and hunger and delight.

He’s also holding his jacket over his crotch. Chris throws his head back and cackles.

Josef meets him with a huge grin and an even bigger hug than he’d sent Chris off with. “Well done, lad,” he shouts in Chris’ ear in the kiss and cry. “It’ll be a world record, or I’ve never coached before.”

It is, as it turns out; Chris now holds the world record for both the free skate and combined score. “That must feel amazing,” a reporter says, holding a microphone to his mouth.

He shrugs, grinning. “You know,” he says, “world records never last forever. Scores are beaten every day.” In his mind’s eye he sees Viktor, already plotting on how to sweep past him in pure numbers.

“But being the first is forever,” she says, grinning back at him.

He winks. “Exactly.”

“It was a hell of a skate,” she says. “I saw that Viktor Nikiforov is here, on a tip from a friend. Was that you?”

“I thought he might like to see it in person, so yes, I gave him a heads-up that he probably wanted to be here today.”

“Do you have any words for your long-time rival?”

Chris looks directly into the camera. “I expect you to have it by the Final, Viktor.”

The reporter laughs. “Alright, thank you for your time.”

“It was my pleasure,” he drawls.

Eventually, after several more interviews, he and Josef make it out of the rink and back to the competition hotel. “Sleep well tonight,” Josef tells him as the elevator stops at his floor. “You don’t want to halt your momentum at the exhibition tomorrow.”

“Yes, Coach,” Chris says. Josef rolls his eyes and gets off.

When Chris arrives at his own floor, he’s not entirely surprised to see a figure leaning against the wall by his door. As he approaches, Viktor straightens and flashes a foil square at him. “Hurry up,” he says. “I have a plane to catch.”

“So much for ‘no time for sex,’” Chris says, pulling out his keycard.

“Shut up and get in the room,” Viktor snaps. Chris raises his eyebrows but obliges.

Once they’re inside, Viktor asks, “Wall or bed?”

Chris’ pulse quickens and his cock, already swelling, takes an even more decided interest in the matter. “Wall.”

Viktor backs him up to the wall and pins him with the deepest kiss Chris has ever had from him, tongue sweeping into Chris’ mouth without preamble, his fingers flying to Chris’ trouser buttons. Chris moans around his tongue and reaches to reciprocate, but Viktor bats his hands away. “We don’t have time,” he says, diving back in to continue plundering Chris’ mouth as one hand slips into Chris’ briefs to take a brusque hold of his cock.

“Fuck,” Chris hisses as Viktor begins to stroke him, dry and _fast._ “Fuck, Viktor, _yes.”_

“Should have known you’d be into this,” Viktor says with a grin, before bending his head down to latch his mouth onto Chris’ neck just under his ear. “I want to leave a mark,” he growls against Chris’ skin. “So everyone knows you got what you deserve.”

“Fuck,” Chris whimpers again, clinging to Viktor’s wrist and the back of his head. “Fuck, yes, do it, leave a mark.” Viktor’s mouth slips lower, to a spot where it will be half-covered by Chris’ gala costume, and starts sucking harder than they’ve ever dared before, with no small amount of teeth. Chris thunks his head against the wall and swears a litany under his breath, hands tight on Viktor’s waist.

Once his cock is hard enough, Viktor unlatches from his neck and drops to his knees. “Trousers down,” he orders. Chris scrambles to obey, shoving everything down to mid-thigh. Viktor rips the condom open and slides it onto Chris, and then unceremoniously bends and swallows him as far as he can get. _“Shit!”_ Chris yells, clapping a hand over his mouth as Viktor begins to suck him in earnest, one hand wrapping around what he can’t fit in his mouth and pumping hard.

It turns out that yes, Chris is _embarrassingly_ into this, and it’s bare minutes of pure overstimulation before he yells again and comes, thrusting his hips into Viktor’s face as the hardest orgasm he’s ever had rips through him. Viktor rides him through it, gentling only a little as Chris shakes through the aftershocks, and when Chris passes a hand over his hair he slips free and stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Sure I can’t do anything for you?” Chris manages to say, reaching out to paw clumsily at Viktor’s hip.

Viktor shakes his head. “No time. My plane leaves in two hours.” He presses Chris into the wall again with another deep, consuming kiss, and then pulls back and steps away. “See you at the Final,” he says, giving him a lustful look that almost has Chris ready for a second round, and then he opens the door and leaves.

Chris has to sink to the floor and breathe for a quarter of an hour before his legs are steady enough to get him to the bathroom, but he makes it eventually. He strips the condom off and leaves it in the bathroom trash can, then examines his neck in his mirror. The mark Viktor left is definitely visible already, and he knows from long years of ice skating that the bruise will darken significantly by morning. Josef may kill him, but as he presses his thumb against it and thrills with remembered pleasure, he can’t regret it one bit.

He showers, then pads to the bed and checks his texts. He has several from Nadja and two, surprisingly and distressingly, from Mat. He checks Nadja’s first.

_Nadja_

_ >> GOD _

_ >> You’re INCREDIBLE _

_ >> Why didn’t you tell me????? _

_ >> God that was sexy _

_ >> I hope you’re not answering because you’re getting laid _

_ >> You deserve it after that performance _

_[img] << _

_Handled << _

_ >> GOOD _

_ >> Go to sleep, you have the gala in the morning _

_Love you << _

_Proud of myself << _

_ >> Proud of you too, boy _

_ >> SLEEP _

So ordered by his best friend, he locks his phone immediately and falls into a victorious, dreamless sleep, but Mat’s texts are, unfortunately, still there in the morning.

_Mat_

_ >> Congratulations _

_ >> That was an amazing thing you did _

_Thanks << _

_I’m still waiting << _

_ >> I know _

_ >> And I know what has to happen _

_ >> I just need a little bit of time to put the wheels in motion, and then I’ll finish my apology _

_I don’t want a public grand gesture << _

_ >> I know _

_ >> I know you, Chris _

_ >> Sorry, I know that was out of line _

_Don’t keep me waiting much longer << _

_ >> I won’t _

Josef rolls his eyes at Chris’ neck in the morning, but doesn’t say anything. Chris attacks his mark with foundation, but it’s just too dark, and eventually he has to give up or use up the whole jar. It’s mostly covered by his costume anyway, just the barest hint peeking out over his high collar. Probably no one will notice it.

It’s perhaps the most spiteful rendition of his exhibition program he’s ever done.

When he checks the gossip boards after he gets home, there’s _plenty_ of scuttlebutt about his love bite and who might have given it to him. Sadistically, he hopes Mat is somewhere reading it all.


	25. twenty-four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris rewinds the video again, scrubbing back until the camera is right in Viktor’s face and then pressing play. “Viktor, do you have the quad Lutz yet?” a fan shouts over the noise of the crowd gathered outside the rink.
> 
> The shot swims into focus on Viktor’s face for the briefest of moments before he winks and says, “Watch and see!” To anyone else, the infinitesimal pause is just Viktor parsing their words over the din of his fans; a moment to turn noise into comprehensible words. But Chris knows Viktor, and he knows what that pause means.
> 
> Viktor doesn’t have it. Which means Chris might finally win the Grand Prix Final.

Chris rewinds the video again, scrubbing back until the camera is right in Viktor’s face and then pressing play. “Viktor, do you have the quad Lutz yet?” a fan shouts over the noise of the crowd gathered outside the rink.

The shot swims into focus on Viktor’s face for the briefest of moments before he winks and says, “Watch and see!” To anyone else, the infinitesimal pause is just Viktor parsing their words over the din of his fans; a moment to turn noise into comprehensible words. But Chris knows Viktor, and he knows what that pause means.

Viktor doesn’t have it. Which means Chris might finally win the Grand Prix Final.

“Stay calm,” Josef tells him, putting his hands on Chris’ shoulders and staring into his eyes. “This is just another competition, like so many others you’ve been in. Stay calm, and stay focused.”

Chris nods, takes a swallow of water, and shakes his head slightly to clear it before turning back to his warm-ups. But he can’t stop his mind from racing. This might finally be his year.

He and Viktor have both won both of their qualifying competitions. Chris has inched his way into the first-place spot for the short programs on the strength of his world records, for the first time in his career. Unfortunately, that means he’ll be skating last, which leaves him too much time to  _ think. _

Chris does his calming exercises, stretches his glutes, and keeps his music up loud enough that he can’t hear the crowd reacting to Viktor’s short program. He keeps his eyes on Josef as he takes the ice, but he can still hear Viktor’s score being read over the loudspeaker. It’s high, of course; this is Viktor Nikiforov, and he’s more motivated than he has been in years, thanks to Chris’ surprise. Of course he would have pushed his program to the limit.

Josef hugs him, pats him on the cheek, and sends him off. He takes center ice, settles into his starting position, and waits for the music.

All throughout the Grand Prix, he’s been practicing two versions of his short program: One with the quad Lutz, and one without. For his events in the Series, he went for the one without, since just having the one in his free was more than enough. But now he’s competing directly against Viktor, and so he and Josef have spent the past few weeks since the Bompard agonizing over which version to use.

In the end, they’ve opted for the version without the quad Lutz. Up against Viktor, the margins will be tighter than ever; it’s the smarter choice to go with safer jumps, and not risk losing points to a fall, which is still all too likely for him with the Lutz. So when his score comes in a little lower than Viktor’s, he’s not surprised. But it’s close, so close, and with Chris one quad up over Viktor for the free...

“I might actually do this,” he murmurs, mostly to himself.

“That’s the spirit,” Josef says jovially. “Come on, let’s clear the kiss and cry.”

He spends the next day in an agony of nerves. He falls on every quad Lutz he tries at morning practice on his day off, but Josef just shakes his head at Chris’ worries. “What matters is how you do it tomorrow,” he says calmly. “You’re too in your own head today, but you’ve always been good at settling into the right headspace for the actual competitions. No more jumps today; focus on your spins and step sequence.”

He can’t bring himself to watch the video of either of Nadja’s dances, which have led her and Mat to yet another gold medal. “I promise to watch them when we get home,” he says to her over dinner in his hotel room the night before his free, taking her hand anxiously.

She waves him off. “I know you will,” she says. “I want you focused on your own gold. Kick that Russian bastard’s ass, alright?” Chris smiles nervously at her, spearing another piece of his chicken.

The day dawns gloomy and cold. Chris has to bundle up more than usual for his walk to the rink, and tries not to take it as an omen.

To his relief, he finds that Josef is right; by the time practice is over and the sixth-place skater takes the ice, he’s much calmer than he was when he woke up. “I’m ready,” he tells Josef while the fourth-place skater is performing.

“Are you sure?” Josef asks him, eyes assessing. Chris nods. “Alright,” Josef says, and leads him out to continue warming up rinkside.

Chris pulls the scores up on his phone. The other competitors are good skaters, but he’s not surprised to find that no one else really seems to be in contention for the top two spots, based on his and Viktor’s base scores. The third-place skater gets his scores, which will probably keep him in a respectable third place, and Chris takes the ice.

All told, his free skate has three quads in it: a flip, a Lutz, and a Salchow, the first and third in combination jumps. He nails them all, only the slightest wobble coming out of the Lutz, but he can tell even from the ice that his spins aren’t quite as tight or as fast as they have been in practice or in the other events.  _ It’s alright, _ he tells himself as he dances the song to a close.  _ It’ll keep things interesting. _

Chris does the quickest math of his life in the kiss and cry. The score Viktor will need to beat him is technically possible, given his base score, but he’ll need to beat Chris’ world record to pull it off, with an almost perfect PCS. Chris’ stomach twists in delighted anticipation as Viktor takes the ice.

Technically, he’s supposed to be getting interviewed while Viktor skates, but there’s no chance of him giving a coherent answer, so Josef lets him linger in the kiss and cry to watch instead of hustling him off to where the reporters are waiting.

By this point, Chris knows Viktor’s elements as well as he knows his own. He starts with his signature jump, the quad flip, and lands it with a flourish. Next is a classic triple-triple, also landed perfectly. Then, just before the halfway point, a quad Sal.

His hand touches the ice. Chris’ flies to Josef’s arm and grips tight. “There we go, lad,” Josef says, low and calculating. “There we go.”

Chris shakes his head, rapt as he watches Viktor recover himself. He has one more quad left, a toe loop, and he lands it cleanly. “His components look good,” Chris murmurs to Josef. “He might pull this off still.”

“No way,” Josef says, “not with that touch-down—WHAT?”

Chris has rocketed out of his seat, jaw dropped, no longer listening to his coach or the music or anything, because Viktor has turned his last jump, a triple-double combination, into a quad-double, and Chris’ chances of gold evaporate in front of his eyes.

Four quads.  _ Four quads, _ in one program. It’s unheard of. It’s  _ inhuman, _ and yet Viktor has done it. Not perfectly, not cleanly, but he’s done it.

Viktor collapses onto the ice when the music stops; Chris is panting hard in sympathy as the other skater slowly pushes himself to his feet to take his bows. “Come on, lad,” Josef says in his ear, tugging him away. “We have to get out of his way.”

The reporters swarm Chris when he enters the backstage area. “Chris, before Nikiforov’s scores are read out, how are you feeling right now?”

“Amazed,” he says honestly, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen anything like what just happened.”

They’re all distracted by the voice coming from the TV in the corner of the room, reading out Viktor’s scores—a new world record, and the gold medal. “Are you upset to have lost what has been your closest competition with Viktor Nikiforov?” another reporter asks him.

Chris searches himself. “No,” he says, a little surprised to find it true. Laughter bubbles up from inside him, and he lets it out, rubbing the back of his head ruefully. “He’s a hell of a skater, and I’m honored just to have driven him to the lengths he’s gone to today. He’s earned that gold medal.”

“I want you tonight,” Viktor says on the podium through his grin. The bronze medallist looks up at him, startled, and then realizes he isn’t the one being addressed and turns back to the cameras.

Chris laughs. “We both have to skate tomorrow,” he reminds Viktor through his own smile.

“I don’t care,” Viktor says. “I want you tonight. Come back to mine; say you will.”

Chris looks up at him. Viktor’s staring at him, ignoring the cameras; the look in his eye is triumphant, gleeful, an energy Chris hasn’t seen from him in a long time. “Of course,” he says. “Champion’s choice.” Viktor smirks at him.

They stumble into Viktor’s hotel room an hour later, kissing and laughing and tearing at each other’s clothes. “Well?” Chris asks, giggling breathlessly as Viktor licks at his nipple. “What do you choose?”

“Oh, I don’t care,” Viktor says, tugging Chris by the belt loops over to the bed. “What’s your favorite sex position? We’ll do that.”

Chris puts Viktor facedown on the bed, ass in the air, and pounds into him, as hard and fast as he can manage. From the sounds of it, and the way he’s thrashing against the sheets, Viktor appreciates the position as much as Chris had when it was him in Viktor’s place. “Fuck, fuck me, Chris, fuck me,  _ fuck me,” _ Viktor chants, fingers twisting in the bedding, and Chris gives it to him as good as he can. He rakes his nails up Viktor’s spine, neck to tailbone, and Viktor yelps and comes with a shudder.

Viktor collapses onto the bed, Chris’ cock slipping out of him. Chris takes hold of it and starts jerking himself off, dropping to one hand over Viktor. “You should come on my back,” Viktor says lazily, catching his breath below him.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Chris fumbles the condom off, drops it onto the floor, and resumes pulling at himself. “Mmm, give it to me,” Viktor says drowsily, looking up at him from behind his fall of hair, and Chris’ balls tighten. A few more strokes and Chris is gone, his come splashing onto Viktor’s back, over the thin red lines raised by his nails.

“Fuck.” Chris drops onto the mattress next to Viktor, and Viktor turns his head to look at him. “That was a good idea.”

“I’m a genius,” Viktor says. Chris laughs at him. Viktor smiles, and then places a hand carefully on Chris’ chest. “Thank you,” he says, uncharacteristically serious. “I needed this season.”

Chris sighs. “I noticed.” In his intensive study of Viktor’s programs this season, he couldn’t help but pick up how tight the skin around Viktor’s eyes has been, and how forced his smiles on the podiums seemed at his two Series events. “Do you even like winning anymore?” Chris asks, putting his hand over Viktor’s on his chest. “You’ve never seemed surprised to win, you’ve always expected it, and it doesn’t seem like it brings you any joy anymore.”  _ It would bring  _ me _ joy to win, _ he doesn’t say, but from the look in his eyes, Viktor hears it anyway.

Viktor hums thoughtfully. “I liked it today,” he says after a moment. “I expect I’ll like it at the Euros and Worlds.”

“If you win them.”

“I’ll have the Lutz by then,” Viktor says. He twitches his fingers until they’re interlaced with Chris’. “I’ll win.”

“If you say so.”

Viktor’s eyes flutter shut. “Thank you,” he says again. “You’re the only thing that’s any fun in this sport anymore.”

Chris stays until his breathing slows and deepens in sleep before dressing quietly and slipping out of the room.


	26. twenty-five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris paces his hotel room, taking deep, calming breaths that do nothing to alleviate his anxiety. His Euros silver medal is on the dresser, along with his exhibition costume for tomorrow. Viktor had landed a quad Lutz by the skin of his teeth that day, thus assuring himself another gold medal.
> 
> Mat’s timing, at least, is excellent. All that’s left is the exhibition. If this conversation goes poorly, at least Chris won’t have to compete afterward. If it goes well...
> 
> Chris isn’t going to think about that possibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed it: The wonderful and fantastically-talented Eli drew [Chris' Body Issue cover](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29485368)!!!!! Go check it out and shower her in praise!!!!!
> 
> I've literally never been so nervous to post a thing to AO3 in my _life_ , good lord. Here we go!

_ Mat _

_ >> You said to come to you when I had my full apology. I have it now. Can I come to you? _

_ 1327 << _

_ >> Thank you _

Chris paces his hotel room, taking deep, calming breaths that do nothing to alleviate his anxiety. His Euros silver medal is on the dresser, along with his exhibition costume for tomorrow. Viktor had landed a quad Lutz by the skin of his teeth that day, thus assuring himself another gold medal.

Mat’s timing, at least, is excellent. All that’s left is the exhibition. If this conversation goes poorly, at least Chris won’t have to compete afterward. If it goes well...

Chris isn’t going to think about that possibility.

Finally, an eternity after his last text that is only seven minutes when Chris checks his phone, there’s a knock at the door.

Mat has always been the most handsome person Chris has ever seen, and his heart stutters as he opens the door to reveal him, dressed in a button-down and jeans and looking at Chris like he’s never seen him before. Chris steps aside and motions for him to come in.

Once the door is shut, they stand there awkwardly for a moment, silent and staring at each other. There’s so much to look at, from Mat’s fidgeting fingers to the deep bags under his eyes to the faint dusting of stubble across his cheeks. From the way Mat’s eyes are flickering all over Chris’ face, he feels the same.

Finally Chris goes to place himself at the foot of the bed, gesturing for Mat to sit opposite him. “Alright,” Chris says once Mat is cross-legged before him. “What’s the big reveal? How are you going to make things right?”

Mat takes a deep breath, looks Chris in the eye, and says, “I’m retiring.”

The bottom drops out of Chris’ stomach. “What?”

“It’s all arranged,” Mat goes on. “We just okayed the press release just now; it goes out when we get home. Worlds will be our last competition; after that, we’re retiring.”

“You can’t,” Chris says, panicking. “I don’t—what about Nadja?”

“She wants to go back to school,” Mat says. “When I told her I thought I needed to be done, she seemed relieved. I think she knows as well as I do that it’s the only option still open for me.”

“You  _ can’t,” _ Chris repeats. “You can’t be done already.”

“I can, and I am,” Mat says firmly. “I would cross the street to avoid meeting the man I’ve let skating make me into. I want to be someone else, and that means letting competing go.”

Chris buries his face in his hands. “You can’t retire for my sake,” he says, voice muffled by his palms.

“I’m not,” Mat says. “I’m retiring for me.” Chris looks at him. “I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Mat says heavily. “I wanted to have this conversation in person, but I’m fully prepared for you to tell me to leave and never darken your door again.”

“I don’t want that,” Chris admits, mouth dry.

A complicated series of expressions passes across Mat’s face. “Okay,” he says carefully. “I can be your friend again, if that’s what you want. If you can forgive me enough for that.”

Chris shakes his head. “I don’t want to be your friend. I  _ can’t _ be your friend.”

Mat looks confused, and tentatively, painfully hopeful. “Okay,” he says again. “Cards on the table. In your ideal world, if we work everything out, what do you want me to be to you?”

Chris takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “I don’t know where you stand,” he starts, “but if you still have feelings for me—”

“I’m in love with you,” Mat cuts in, smooth and strong.

Chris brushes a tear from under his closed lid. “Fuck, Mat,” he says helplessly. “I want you to  _ step up; _ I want you to be my  _ partner. _ I want us to be together, properly, seriously. I want everything you were holding back when we were pretending to be casual, and I want to be the same for you.”

He opens his eyes and looks at Mat, who is crying now too, tears silently streaking down his cheeks. “That’s... a lot more than I was expecting,” Mat says shakily. “More than I hoped for.”

“More than you want?” Chris asks, wretched.

Mat shakes his head immediately, taking Chris’ hand almost unconsciously. “Not more than I want,” he says. “I want to be that for you.”

“Can you?” Chris asks. His voice is thick but he pushes past it. “Great, you want to, but are you actually capable of it?”

“Yes,” Mat says. “If I retire.”

Chris groans and rubs his free hand over his face. He feels Mat’s hand settle, tentative and reassuring, on the back of his neck. “Chris, I mean it when I say I’m not doing this for you.” His face is earnest when Chris looks back up at him. “Or at least, not solely for you,” he amends. “This is what I need to do, for my own sake. If you can forgive me, if, God knows how, you want me  _ back, _ that’s essentially a bonus. A wonderful, miraculous bonus. But I need to retire. I need to be done competing.”

Chris reaches for him without thinking, pulling back before he touches Mat’s face. “Mat, I need to—”

“Do what you need to do,” Mat says solemnly, and Chris pulls him into a kiss, searching for something, anything, that will let him be sure.

Mat kisses him back. His hand comes up to grip Chris’ forearm and he lets out a stuttering, almost surprised breath, but the press of his lips against Chris’ is steady and sure. Chris kisses him for a long, lingering moment, and then pulls back to press his forehead against Mat’s. “I love you too,” he whispers.

Mat shudders, his fingers tightening on Chris’ arm. “That doesn’t mean you forgive me,” he says, like he’s trying to convince himself.

“I know,” Chris says. He swallows hard. “But I do.”

Mat lets out a sudden, surprising sob. “Oh, Chris, do you mean it?” Chris nods, and then Mat is in Chris’ arms, face pressed against his neck. Chris can feel that it’s wet as he wraps himself tightly around him, squeezing as hard as he dares. “Chris, I’m so sorry,” Mat mumbles, clinging to him. “I’m so sorry, I’m  _ sorry.” _

“I don’t need you to be sorry anymore,” Chris tells him, cupping the back of his head. “I just need you to be better.”

“I will be, I promise. I already am.” Mat hugs him for a few moments longer, and then pulls back, wiping his face. “I should say this,” he says, blinking away tears and looking at Chris. “I don’t... I can’t do it, if you’re still going to sleep with other people. I don’t want to stifle you—” he adds, face beseeching.

Chris shakes his head, cutting him off. “If we’re going to do this for real, it would just be us. Just me and you. No one else.”

“Are we doing this?” Mat asks. His hands are tight around Chris’ wrists. “Are we doing this for real?”

“I want to,” Chris says, his first smile since the medal ceremony breaking over his face.

Mat lunges forward, catching himself just before he collides with Chris. “Chris,” he whispers, “Chris, please,” and Chris pulls him in again, catching him in a kiss that’s deeper and much more passionate than their last.

Mat’s fingers twist into his shirt and Chris breaks away only to reach behind his head and pull it off, tossing it aside as he dives back into Mat’s mouth. Mat moans against his lips and leans back, pulling Chris on top of him as they both fumble with Mat’s shirt. “Why did you wear  _ buttons,” _ Chris says, laughing as his shaking fingers fumble with them.

“I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t taking it seriously by dressing casually,” Mat says, and Chris kisses him again. Mat gets the last of the buttons undone and sits up to wrestle his arms out of the shirt. Chris starts kissing down his neck and chest, leaving a wet trail with his tongue as he works at Mat’s jeans.

They scramble out of the rest of their clothes, kissing as much as possible. Mat is  _ worshipful, _ running his hands and lips all over Chris’ body, relearning him as Chris tries to do the same. “How do you want me?” Chris murmurs when Mat comes back up to kiss his mouth again.

“Any way,” Mat breathes. “Anything, Chris,  _ anything.” _

“Mat.” Chris takes hold of his chin and makes Mat look at him. “How do you want me?” he repeats, softer and quieter.

Mat flushes red. “Inside me,” he murmurs. “Inside me and over me, Chris,  _ please.” _

He’s tight when Chris pushes two fingers into him, and his whimpers and broken moans as Chris works him open make Chris press his face against Mat’s knee and swear gently. “Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he hisses, slipping a third finger inside him.

“Missed you too,” Mat moans, his back arching to press his ass harder against Chris’ hand. “God, Chris, you feel so good. Don’t stop.”

Chris works him open until Mat is speared on four of his fingers and begging, and then he fishes a condom out of the depths of his suitcase and starts the long, hot press into him. There are tears in Mat’s eyes when they’re finally locked tightly together, and Chris brushes a lock of hair out of his face. “Are you going to cry the whole time?” he says teasingly, to hide the fact that his own eyes are none too dry themselves.

“Shut up,” Mat says, laughing, and it’s that more than anything that lets Chris know they’re going to be alright. “I thought I was never going to feel you again,” Mat goes on more quietly, putting a hand to the side of Chris’ face. “And it was my own damn fault.” Chris takes Mat’s hand, presses a kiss to his palm, and starts to move.

Their lovemaking is more vocal than it had been in the past, both of them crying out for the pleasure and the relief of being together again. Mat’s ankles hook behind Chris’ thighs and his fingers dig into his back, urging him faster, deeper,  _ more, _ and Chris gives it to him, fucking him as much and as hard as he can before he feels the familiar twisting in his stomach. He braces himself on one hand and reaches between them with the other to pull at Mat’s cock, murmuring endearments, so that Mat is the first one to tip over the edge, nails tearing holes in Chris’ skin as he wails. Chris follows him a few minutes later, dropping his mouth to pant hotly into Mat’s neck as they both catch their breath.

Chris eventually unseats himself, tossing the condom aside and slipping down to plaster himself against Mat’s side. Mat’s arm goes around him, fingers reaching up to play in Chris’ hair. “I love you,” Chris murmurs again, just to taste the words.

When he looks at Mat, Mat’s gazing at him like Chris is a miracle. “I love you too,” he says softly, and they kiss, surprisingly sweet and tender after their frantic sex.

They lie there for a few moments before the air is cut by a buzz from Mat’s trousers at the foot of the bed. “Ughhhhh,” Mat groans, and Chris laughs and leans away to let Mat sit up and paw at the fabric for his phone. “It’s Nadja,” he says, tapping at the screen as he wraps himself around Chris again. “Apparently our coach is looking for me.”

“Send her a selfie,” Chris says, snuggling close. Mat flashes him a smile and holds the phone out to snap the picture. He tilts the screen to show the result to Chris. They look exhausted but happy; Mat’s eyes are still a little red from crying. “Send that to me too?” Chris asks. Mat kisses the top of his head. “Do you have to go?” Chris adds, a little shyly.

Mat shakes his head as the response from Nadja comes in. “She says she’ll make my excuses, and congratulations on getting my shit together.” Chris chuckles into his shoulder. “If it’s alright with you, I’d rather not go anywhere,” Mat says.

Chris tightens his hold on Mat’s torso, flinging one of his legs over his lover’s. “Definitely no leaving for you, then.”

Mat eventually turns out the light and Chris hears his breathing even out, arms going limp and heavy around him. Chris fumbles on the nightstand for his own phone, turning the brightness down so it doesn’t disturb him, and sends a series of texts.

_ Nadja _

_ You’re really okay with this? << _

_ >> I really am, I promise _

_ >> I have things beyond skating I want to do _

_ >> We’ve had a good run. I’m ready for it to be over _

_ >> And I want you happy _

_ I am happy << _

_ >> Good _

_ >> <3 _

_ >> Night love _

_ Night << _

_ <3 << _

_ Mom, Dad _

_ Hey << _

_ I know you’re asleep, but when I get home, there’s someone I want you to meet << _

_ Well, you’ve already met him << _

_ What I mean is, there’s someone I want to bring home << _

_ Love you both. See you soon << _

Chris locks his phone, nestles it next to Mat’s on the nightstand, and puts his head on Mat’s shoulder, closing his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an epilogue to go....


	27. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Another season done and dusted,” Chris says, fingering the silver medal around his neck. “Well skated, everyone.”

“Another season done and dusted,” Chris says, fingering the silver medal around his neck. “Well skated, everyone.”

“Thanks,” the bronze medalist says, stepping carefully off his level of the podium. “You too.” He takes off toward the rink exit. Yakov is lurking there, arms crossed and frowning; at the other exit, further down the boards, stand Mat and Josef, chatting quietly.

Chris takes his own step off the podium, skates thunking onto the ice, and offers a hand to Viktor. The other skater takes it and joins him.

Chris looks at the top step, where Viktor had been standing just moments ago, and gets a wave of something that feels like resignation mixed with an epiphany. “You’re never going to let me up there, are you?” he murmurs.

“No,” Viktor says, blunt as always. When Chris looks back at his face he looks pained, eyes tight and hands clenched. “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

Chris sighs. He’s got a bouquet of roses in his hand, from somewhere or other, and carefully he works one free of the bundle and holds it out to Viktor. “We’ll always be friends,” he says. “No matter who stands on which step. I haven’t given up, mind you,” he adds teasingly, to try and smooth out some of the lines on Viktor’s face.

It works, a little bit. “I’d be devastated if you did,” Viktor says lightly, taking the rose like it’s something precious. “I need some real competition to keep me motivated.”

“Well, if that’s all I am to you—”

“It’s not,” Viktor interrupts. He’s back to looking extremely serious, and puts a hand on Chris’ shoulder. “You’re still the best friend I’ve ever managed to make,” he says. “If I’m going to lose you to silver medal resentment, I need to know now.”

Chris heaves another sigh and looks back at the top step. “Honesty for honesty?” he asks. Viktor nods solemnly. Chris takes in his tight, unhappy face, the gold medal that’s already clutched in his hand instead of around his neck, and the way he’s looking at Chris like there’s any number of championships he could win that would make Chris stop caring about him, and he says, as gently as he can, “If winning means being you, I don’t think I want it.”

Viktor winces, but then he nods. “Good,” he says. “You shouldn’t.”

Chris puts a hand on Viktor’s shoulder and then Viktor is folding him in a sudden hug, knocking the breath out of him as he wraps his arms around him. Chris gamely hugs back until Viktor releases him and takes a step back. “Go be with your love,” Viktor says, face screwed up like he’s in pain.

“Go be a champion,” Chris tells him. With a nod, Viktor leaves, skating past Chris to the exit where Yakov looms, a sullen rain cloud. Chris takes a deep breath and then heads toward the other, where Mat is waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL.
> 
> Here we are. The longest thing I've ever written, done and dusted.
> 
> Parts of this fic have been living in my head since 2017. I can't say what it means to me to have actually written it, to have put those headcanons to virtual paper and had people read them and like them. I hope you all liked the ending!
> 
> Like I said, this fic means a lot to me, my passion project. If you've read this far, please consider leaving a comment and letting me know what you thought! (If you've already left a comment, I love you.) (If you've left more than one, please consider this an official proposal of marriage.)
> 
> If you're not following me on Twitter or Tumblr, I'd recommend it! Some exciting news coming down the pipe about this fic in the next few weeks/months.
> 
> Thank you, and love to you all <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://thewalrus-said.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/thewalrus_said)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Christophe Giacometti Bares It All aka The Chris Fic: ESPN cover edition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29485368) by [elianthos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elianthos/pseuds/elianthos)




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